


30 Day OTP Challenge

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Fake Marriage, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Dean, Post Season 8, Top Dean, alternating povs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jen undertakes the 30 Day OTP Challenge for the month of June. Featuring everyone's favourite fallen angel and his hunter.</p><p>There is a story line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

Cas used to be an angel.

Cas knows how to fight. He kicked Dean’s ass in his blade proficiency test and his aim with a gun could use some work but it’s still better than the average civilian. When it came to hand to hand combat, he had Sam pinned in ten minutes, and he’s like a foot shorter than him or something (no, he’s not actually that short but it helps get the point across in his head).

Cas can hold his own. He’s a big boy. Dean knows this.

So, why the hell is he freaking the fuck out?

It’s just a wendigo. They all have their homemade flamethrowers, they all have flare guns, and they all have walkie-talkies and nobody has triple clicked that they found it. This isn’t their first walk in the park. They’re  _prepared_. There’s nothing he should be worrying about, but ever since they split up at the pass it’s been like an itch on the back of his neck and it’s shimmying down his spine.

His flashlight cuts through the dark ahead and it’s just one cave tunnel after another. Seriously, what is it with wendigos and  _caves?_  As if the fuckers weren’t creepy enough to start with. Dean fights the urge to pull out his radio and signal the others just to make sure that Cas is alright. Of course he’s worried about Sam too, but he’s been worried about Sam since day one when he was a squirmy baby in a blanket. That feeling is like background radiation now, something he knows is there but he doesn’t really feel it.

A noise up ahead has him flicking his flashlight off and tucking up against the cave wall. There’s cracks in the cave along one side that let in a little light. Barely enough to see by, but enough so that he’s not in pitch black. Dean puts his hand over his mouth and nose and he waits, other hand twitching toward his radio to get his thumb on the speaker button.

He relaxes when the arc of light from another flashlight moves over the wall and someone comes around the corner. Dean doesn’t know  _how_  he knows, but he knows it’s Cas and he breathes a sigh of relief. But he doesn’t move, grinning behind his hand and waiting. Cas’s flashlight slides along the opposite wall, glancing down the way Dean came before moving over the way he was headed.

Cas turns left, toward him and Dean presses closer to the wall. It’s childish and stupid to want to scare Cas, to jump out and surprise him like the bastard used to do when he zapped into the car or the bathroom or anywhere within two feet of Dean without him knowing it. But Dean can’t help it. He’s been messing with Cas since he showed up at the bunker with a dirty trench coat and ripped suit on his shoulders, tears in his eyes and an apology on his lips.

And maybe he’s just really relieved to see that Cas hasn’t been made into wendigo chow yet.

He’s almost to where Dean is standing when he turns around, flashlight moving like a scanner through the dark. Dean’s contemplations about whether or not now would be a good time to step out and grab Cas’s shoulder are cut short when Cas speaks in a hushed whisper.

“Dean Winchester, if you even think of trying to scare me, I would like to remind you that  _I have a gun_.”

Fuck. Yeah, that’s a damn decent point. It wouldn’t be all that smart to scare the bejesus out of a guy who’s supposed to be hunting a deadly creature that’s more than ready to claw his stomach out. Dean sighs, stepping away from the wall in defeat and squinting against the bright beam of the flashlight when Cas whips around to point it at him. There’s a flare gun raised right next to it and Dean feels a pulse of pride for how well Cas is adjusting – it’s a thousand times better than what Dean saw in the 2014 that never was.

He’d be lying if he denied that the Cas he remembers from then didn’t play a huge part in his decision to forgive this Cas and welcome him into the bunker with open arms. There’s still tension between them, words left unspoken that neither of them are sure how to address, but they leave it be and it rarely causes problems. Because, honestly? Dean’s really fucking happy to have his best friend around all the time now – especially since Cas can’t zap off without a word anymore.

“How’d you know I was here?” Dean asks, reaching out to push the flashlight down so it’s not shining in his face.

Cas shrugs and tucks the flare gun back into his belt. “I didn’t. I’ve been saying it to the dark every five minutes since we split up.”

Dean isn’t sure if he should be amused or upset by that. On one hand, it means Cas was paranoid enough about him doing it. On the other, Cas could’ve been giving his position away to the wendigo at any of those times. For all they know, it could’ve been stalking him for the last little bit, waiting to get the drop on him.

He turns his flashlight back on and digs the copy of an old map they’d found in the town library out of his pocket. “Since our tunnels intersected, we can stay together for now until we come to another split. Where do you think Sammy might be by now?”

Cas leans in to look at the map and Dean takes over keeping an eye on the tunnels around them. “If he took the proper path, he should be in this chamber by now. The ones I came across didn’t have any signs of being inhabited. It’s highly possible the wendigo is using the one Sam found to store its victims.”

“I haven’t heard any clicks yet, have you?”

“No.”

“Wanna head that way?”

“Yes.”

Well, that’s that, then. Cas takes the map and leads the way and Dean takes up keeping an eye behind them. They walk in that comfortable-not-comfortable silence that always falls between them. It’s nice because they’re comfortable with each other, but there’s that little bit of awkward left to it from everything that happened before. Nobody’s forgotten it, of course, and they’re going to have to end up talking about it at some point. Putting it off is just making it build up and Dean knows it’s going to snap at some point, but he doesn’t really want to be the one to bring it up.

The clicks come on their walkie-talkies after the third bend in the tunnel. It’s four clicks and Cas sucks in a breath. “He found the prisoners.” Three more clicks and Cas shoves the map in his pocket. “And the wendigo is there. It’s just around the bend. Come  _on_ , Dean.”

Cas reaches back – for his arm, his shoulder, his wrist, who the hell even knows – and grabs Dean by the hand. In the dark Dean’s senses are heightened and he feels every moment of the slide of fingers over his palm, and the thumb pressing into the back of his hand. It sends a wave of heat up his arm, curling under his skin to take root somewhere behind his ribs. Cas’s fingers are cool, palm sweaty.

He knows what Cas’s hand feels like. He’s grabbed it before – more times than he can count – in Purgatory, dragging him along when it seemed like Cas was giving up. Back then Cas had been an angel. He’s human here and now. But it doesn’t feel any different. His skin still has give to it. It’s not solid and immovable like he thought Cas used to be. Dean’s bumped into him enough times to know that’s not true. Cas is human now, but he’s still  _Cas_.

Dean notices how he hesitates. Cas doesn’t look over his shoulder, but he does pause – for just a moment. In that moment Dean folds his fingers and tightens his grip. He steps forward where Cas doesn’t and tugs him forward so he stumbles after him.

It’s beyond unnecessary for them to do this. They both have flashlights and if anything, they run slower together. But Cas is squeezing his fingers tight enough that it nearly hurts and Dean honestly doesn’t want to let go. Not until they round that corner and skid into a chamber with a ten foot tall monster, screaming civilians and Sam cornered with a shout of “About time!”

Cas fires the flare gun, lighting up the whole room and Dean launches forward, pulling the trigger on his flamethrower. He’s focused on the job now, but he doesn’t forget that hand in his, the tentative squeeze before the vice-like grip. He doesn’t forget that it felt good, and  _right_. He doesn’t forget, but he doesn’t think about it right now.

 


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

It’s two days later and they’re still not home. While driving through some piss poor excuse for a town in the ass end of Arkansas, Sam had caught whiff of a haunting while they were stopped for gas. The ghosts – and the plural is entirely appropriate – take up residence in some old, abandoned house on the edge of town where there was, at some point in time, some huge mass murder.

All that translates for Dean is lots of digging. Maybe they should rent a backhoe or something. It’ll take less time than usual because they’ve got Cas with them, but it still means hours and hours standing in multiple muddy graves with a shovel in his hands. He’s not exactly getting any younger here and it’s probably going to take more than one night to dig up all the bodies to salt and burn them.

Which is why he needs his sleep right now and the damn couch in the corner squeaking every time Cas rolls over is really not helping with the that.

“Dude, would you just fucking hold still and go to  _sleep_  already?” Dean hisses into the dark of the motel room.

The squeaking stops for all of five seconds before Cas’s all too unhappy voice hisses back. “I want a rematch.”

“You lost the coin toss fair and square. Make a better call next time. Now suck it up and go to sleep.”

The only motel they’d found in town was undergoing renovations to the majority of their rooms. And it’s just their luck that the only two rooms they had available were singles. Sam and Dean had done a rousing game of rock-paper-scissors (of course Dean lost first round – one day he swears he’ll remember to throw something that isn’t scissors) to find out which one of them would bunk with Cas.

That didn’t mean they’d share beds, oh no. There’s a raggedy couch in each room and Dean had dug around in his pockets for a quarter. Three out of five flips had him winning the bed and Cas shooting him the dirtiest looks until he let him have the shower first. Which, really, is about the nicest thing he could have possibly done aside from giving over the bed.

Cas takes the longest, hottest showers known to mankind. He’ll only come out if someone bangs on the door to remind him that humans aren’t amphibians. Dean’s lucky if he gets even two minutes of hot water whenever he ends up having to shower after Cas. Which, surprisingly, wasn’t the case tonight. Cas was in and out of the bathroom in fifteen minutes and the water didn’t even start to get cold until Dean was just finishing up.

Sam had joined them for some ordered in pizza and they watched blurry TV until they’d demolished everything they’d ordered. One extra large vegetarian and one extra large meat lovers. Just to placate the two narrow eyed glares, Dean had eaten at least one slice of the vegetarian and promptly washed it down with two slices of meat lovers.

The lights went out shortly after Sam left and Cas has been grumbling and tossing and turning ever since. Meanwhile, Dean’s been laying here staring at the ceiling and listening to the passive aggressive complaining while flexing the fingers of his left hand. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel the pressure of Cas’s fingers around his, squeezing tight while they ran through tunnels. His arm gets tingly whenever he thinks about that blaze of heat that had shot up it at the contact and he tries really hard to remember if he ever felt something like that in purgatory when he’d grabbed Cas’s hands back then.

He doesn’t trust his memories of purgatory. Not after he’d been so sure that he’d failed Cas only to find out that he’d all but pushed Dean through the portal. That memory leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he rolls over, tucking his left hand under the pillow and trying to focus on anything else.

“I’d rather sleep in the impala.” Cas mumbles, and the couch squeaks again as he turns over. “She doesn’t have springs that dig into my back.”

“Keys are in my jacket.”

“Dean, it’s  _cold out_.”

“Make sure you wear your coat. Take those blankets with you.”

Cas huffs again and the couch squeaks and every time it does, Dean’s resolve frays a little more. Back in purgatory, whenever he’d manage to grab a few hours shut eye, it was always right next to Cas with one hand fisted in his coat, his shirt – hell, once it had been his pant leg – all just to make sure he wouldn’t zap off and leave him again. Now Cas can’t. He can’t just poof off to God knows where without a word and it makes him feel like the biggest dickwad for even feeling slightly happy about Cas losing that ability when Metatron forced the angels out of heaven.

Those really aren’t thoughts that help him sleep and he turns over again, only to nearly have a fucking heart attack.

“Jesus, Cas!” He sits up but Cas doesn’t move, still crouched at the edge of the bed with his blanket around his shoulders and glaring at Dean in the light coming through the motel curtains. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave?”

“If it means I’ll get the bed, yes.”

Dean flops back against the pillows, throwing his arm over his eyes in a gesture that’s maybe a little too dramatic but he’s been driving for two days after hiking through a forest and a cave and fighting a wendigo. And that’s not even talking about the mental strain of thinking about holding Cas’s hand which has been his default train of thought since they walked away from a pile of ash.

“I fail to see how sharing a bed now is any different from when you slept next to me in purgatory.” Cas says it so simply and Dean hopes he’s imagining the edge of hurt to his voice. 

“This  _is_  different.”

“If you’re worried that you might end up holding onto me out of habit, I won’t mind.” Cas’s voice pitches softer, more of a whisper now – as if it’s a secret. “There are broken springs in the couch that dig into my back and my legs. I can’t sleep on it and I’m too tall for the backseat of the impala. Sam doesn’t have to know. I won’t tell him.”

For fuck’s sake – now Cas sounds like he’s honestly  _begging_  and the pleading in his voice is sending goosebumps over his skin. Dean doesn’t even need to move his arm to know Cas is pulling the wide-eyed puppy look. The same look he learned from Sam his second week in the bunker. The same look they both know makes Dean cave in minutes.

“If you’ve got cold feet, I swear to God you’ll be sleeping in the  _trunk_.” Dean rolls over, situating himself on the far side of the bed to make room.

Cas shoves the blanket up against Dean’s back and crawls onto the bed, making the mattress dip. Dean grabs at the edge of the bed to keep himself from tilting back toward the new weight until Cas is stretched out and comfortable. He’s wrapped up under the spare blanket they’d found in the closet and there are no cold feet sneaking under the one covering him.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas murmurs, soft and quiet and sending more goosebumps skittering all down Dean’s legs.

He resists turning over to see if Cas is laying facing him or not. It’s not anything he needs to know or care about and he’s resolutely not going to think about it. Cas doesn’t say anything else and it’s a lot less time than Dean thought it would be before Cas’s breathing evens out into the deep, long pulls of sleep. It takes longer for him to drift off, but he’s a lot more comfortable with having another body in his bed – specifically Cas’s body – than he thought he would’ve been.

Cas’s nightmare wakes Dean a few hours later. It’s the whimpering that does it and Dean rolls over to find Cas curled on his side facing him, his hands flexing around his throat. Dean knows Cas has nightmares about The Fall, about how Metatron took his grace. He’s heard him wake up crying before on the nights that Dean can’t sleep. If he turns on the light now, will there be tears dripping from the end of Cas’s nose and soaking into the threadbare pillow?

Just like in the cave two days ago, Dean doesn’t think about it when he pulls Cas’s fingers from his throat. He cups both his hands in one of his, squeezing them tightly while he lays his other hand over the side of Cas’s neck. It’s a light touch, but Cas wakes with a gasp and Dean can barely make out his eyes in the dark. Immediately, Cas tries to pull away. Dean doesn’t let him, curling his fingers tighter over the back of his neck.

He doesn’t say anything and neither does Cas. They’re staring at each other in the dark and Dean spares a moment to wonder why it’s only in the dark that he’s done this – touched Cas like this. There’s no doubt in his mind that the stroke of his thumb along the stubbled edge of Cas’s jaw is an entirely different kind of touch to the hand he’s put on his shoulder to stop him, guide him, push him. Cas gasps again - a wet, sniffle-filled noise and Dean  _tugs_. It’s one sharp little pull at Cas’s hands and his neck, but it’s all the permission Cas needs.

It’s a shuffling, ungainly mess to get Cas’s blanket over top of Dean’s and get him shimmied up against his side. Dean bites back a curse at the cold feet that press against his calves. One of Cas’s hands gets awkwardly pinned between their chests and Dean's arm under Cas's head will probably be numb in twenty minutes, but it’s the best they can do when they’re fumbling in the dark. Cas’s nose bumps his collarbone. He’s still sniffling and there's damp setting in at the edge of Dean’s t-shirt. His shoulders shake under his arms and Dean turns into him more, holding him tighter.

They don’t say anything about this. No ‘thank you’ or ‘it’s gonna be okay’. Dean knows they won’t talk about it in the morning and they’ll probably pretend it didn’t happen until all those unspoken things between them finally reaches its breaking point. Until then Dean’s going to ignore that little feeling of  _right_ and heat blooming at every point of contact. He’s going to ignore how it settles in his chest to heat him from the inside out and he’s definitely going to ignore how Cas settles against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.


	3. Watching a Movie

“Hey Cas, you got the movie section?”

Castiel doesn’t even stop reading the news section, extracting the necessary section of the newspaper to pass to Dean. His eyes keep going over the words, but his brain stops reading them when Dean’s fingers brush his. He doesn’t let his hand linger, withdrawing it quickly to readjust his papers next to his plate of bacon and eggs. He studiously ignores the glance Dean gives him.

It’s not as easy to ignore the tingling in his fingers and how every nerve in his body seems to be oriented to where Dean is in the room. If Dean is in the same room, it feels like Castiel has a sixth sense for where he is. It feels ridiculous and completely different from how he used to be able to know where Dean was no matter where he was in the world – once he had edited the text he’d carved into Dean’s bones to include a symbol that allowed Castiel and only Castiel to know where he was. It was the itch, digging under his skin and prickling at the back of his neck, that made him think Dean was nearby in the wendigo’s cave and he was both surprised and not surprised when he’d stepped away from the wall.

This sensation is like an itch under his skin and he can only count two times – both in the last two weeks – where the itch went away. The first time was accidental, when he’d grabbed Dean’s hand instead of his wrist in the dark of that cave. Even now, nearly two weeks later, he can remember the sudden jolt through his chest as he realized it was fingers under his hand. For one delirious moment, Castiel had stopped breathing and his world – already compacted to this cage of flesh and bone – narrowed further to the single point where he was touching Dean.

Everything else ceased to exist for those few seconds where he thought Dean would pull away. He fully expected Dean to make a disgusted noise because as much as he acts like he’s forgiven him, Castiel knows there is still animosity between them. But Dean had only gripped his hand more securely and he hadn’t let go until they’d found the wendigo. He’s not sure if he breathed the entire time they were touching and it was only when Dean let go was he able to think clearly enough to react to the situation at hand.

The second time had been when he’d woken from a nightmare with Dean’s hand holding both of his and a palm spread warm against the side of his neck. Castiel won’t lie that the itch had been one of the reasons he’d gotten up from the couch and gone to the bed. The itch isn’t really there when Dean isn’t in the room, but when he is, Castiel has found that it’s only proximity that makes it less annoying. Being on the other side of the room, with broken springs digging into his tender human skin, had been nearly unbearable. Especially with the phantom memory of Dean’s hand in his still tickling the skin of his palm.

It had been so easy, so natural, to fall asleep next to Dean. The urge to reach out and take his hand again, to hold it under the blankets and squeeze it tight like he had in the cave, had been so strong. Castiel is proud of himself for resisting it. But after the nightmare, with unshed tears in his eyes and all the guilt and blame weighing heavily on him, Dean had taken the step Castiel hadn’t and pulled him closer. He’d met him in the middle of the bed and wrapped around him in a way all too similar to how Castiel used to fold his wings over Dean’s shoulders when they stood close to each other.

Dean is much warmer than Castiel can ever recall him being. In comparison to the being that Castiel used to be, this human body is frozen. It doesn’t bother him and he doesn’t wear any more clothing than he used to. But Dean radiates warmth. Castiel knew Dean was a warm person to start with, but he didn’t realize just how _literal_ that was.

Since then, on the nights he wakes cold and gasping, Castiel often finds himself outside Dean’s bedroom within moments. His breath still ragged and tears on his cheeks. He never knocks and he turns away as soon as he realizes what he’s doing. He doesn’t deserve to seek the comfort that Dean gives him when they still have so much wrong between them.

There’s still so much Castiel has to make up for, and he’s not sure if he’s doing anything for it or not. No matter how much better Sam seems to be getting, he still has moments where he’s very sick and Castiel can’t heal him. He couldn’t when he had the ability and he can’t now. No matter how much research he does, no matter how many healing charms he finds or makes, Castiel doesn’t feel like he’s doing any good even if Sam smiles and thanks him.

It’s nice to see Sam smile. It makes Castiel feel warmer, happier. It pales in comparison to the fire that burns in his chest when he earns a smile from Dean, when he earns a pat on the shoulder and a “Good job, Cas.” It should feel degrading, to think of those like rewards as if he was nothing more than a pet. But every passing day has Dean smiling at him more, has him talking to him more, and Castiel can’t help but think it’s all worth it. He has so much to make up for – all the time he’s failed Dean, when he ran off to try and fix things on his own instead of taking Dean’s advice and his help.

It’s no wonder that it took him weeks to gather the courage necessary to come to the bunker and ask if he could stay.

Castiel only looks up from the newspaper when Dean makes a kind of noise he’s never heard before. Dean is grinning down at the paper like it’s the answer to all his problems and Castiel’s stomach twists. Dean looks _happy_ and Castiel is both pleased and strangely unhappy. What could possibly be in the newspaper that would make Dean happier than anything that he does?

“Sam!” Dean turns and shouts back toward the kitchen where Castiel knows Sam is washing the dishes. “Sam, the new Star Trek movie starts this weekend! Call up her highness, we’re going to see it!”

“Garth has that harpy infestation he wants us to look into on the east coast.” Castiel reminds him and Dean immediately sinks into his chair, frowning across the table at him. He adverts his eyes back down to the newspaper. “It’s short notice. Charlie might not be available. Maybe plan for it when we return?”

“Cas has a point.” Sam says from the door to the kitchen, a plate in his hand. “Text her and say we can see it when we get back.” He pauses and something that feels like a warning tickles down his back. Castiel looks up and Sam’s grin is teasing and sly. “Besides, I don’t think Cas has seen the first movie, let alone any of the shows.”

Castiel isn’t sure how the wide eyed, absolutely horrified look Dean turned to him ended with the both of them sitting in the room Dean converted to be an ‘entertainment room’. He’s got a box full of DVDs, a nearly endless supply of popcorn, and Dean threatened that if he left the room for anything that isn’t a bathroom emergency, then Castiel would be burdened with cleaning the bathroom for an entire year. After seeing the amount of hair Sam leaves in the drain, it’s a task no one is interested in doing.

They start with the first series. With Kirk and Spock and Castiel wisely keeps his mouth shut about anything he sees regarding their relationship. He doesn’t want to say anything that might upset Dean and make him get off the couch. It’s only a few feet of distance and a bowl of popcorn that separates them and the itch is placated by it.

Not even driving across the country stops Dean from educating Castiel on the very important cultural phenomenon that is Star Trek. He brings all the DVDs with them, including a DVD player should the motel they spend the night at not have one, and they stay up until Sam throws a pillow at someone to get them to turn off the lights and go to bed. Dean has also taken to keeping a fold up cot in the trunk of the impala and Castiel only sleeps on it half the time. He is getting much better at rock-paper-scissors. Especially once he realized that Dean always throws scissors first.

Dean takes him through all the seasons, including the movies that go with it. By the time that they’re on their way back from dealing with the harpies - which they were well prepared for thanks to the texts in the bunker – Dean says Castiel is almost ready to watch the most recent movie. The one currently in theaters is the sequel and Dean has declared that none of them are going to see it until Castiel’s education is a hundred percent complete.

Despite how much he’s enjoyed watching everything, it’s Dean’s enthusiasm that he finds the most entertaining. Every time Dean pauses an episode or a movie to make sure Castiel understands what is happening with the plot or to explain a joke that is based on other pop culture references that he doesn’t get, Castiel is subjected to the full brunt of his attention.

And it makes Castiel happy. He’s happy to get to spend so much time with Dean where neither of them are thinking about the past and everything that Castiel has yet to make up for. He’s especially happy when they’re sitting on the couch in the bunker together and marathoning the last few episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise. Tomorrow they’re going to watch the movie and – since Charlie already saw the newest movie, much to Dean’s dismay – they’re going to go see a late night viewing with Sam afterward.

But right now, Dean is folded over and snoring against the opposite arm of the couch. His legs are pulled up and half tucked under him, one uncurled into the no-man’s-land between them where the popcorn had been until Castiel relocated it to his lap. Castiel resolutely continues watching the episodes because he knows Dean is going to quiz him about them afterward. If he happens to rearrange how he’s sitting so Dean’s foot is pressed against his ankle, then that’s an unfortunate occurrence of having only one couch and Dean taking up the majority of it.

It’s not like Castiel is going to complain. 


	4. On a Date

“He’s going to be very disappointed that you’re not going to be accompanying us.” Castiel keeps his voice quiet. It’s not for confidentiality, since Dean is only a few rooms over and getting ready to go to the new Star Trek movie he’s been waiting over a week to see. He wrings water out of the cloth into the bowl on the bedside table and lays it over Sam’s forehead. “Dean might not want to go at all if you can’t come with us.”

Sam’s smile is weak and worrying, his eyes hidden by the edge of the cloth. This bout of sickness had settled in quicker than most and the sigil Castiel had painted on his chest has been so far ineffective. “He’ll understand why I can’t go. Just take him out to that burger joint he likes first, buy him a slice of pie and make sure he gets the jumbo box of milk duds at the theater and everything will be fine.”

“You speak as if I’m going to be the one paying for everything.”

“I’ll cover most of it – as an apology. The money’s in my wallet over there.” Sam flaps a hand toward the dresser in the corner where his wallet is sitting on top of it.

Castiel gets a couple twenty dollar bills from it before returning to Sam’s side. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather us stay? I’m sure Dean wouldn’t –”

“You’ve both earned it. Take him out on the town and have some fun.” He mumbles, coughing wetly against his hand. “Sorry for such short notice. I’m going to try to take a nap or something.”

“I understand.” He checks the sigils of blood on Sam’s chest to make sure they’re all correct before he leaves. “Rest well, Sam. I’ll let Dean know.”

His smile seems just a little stronger in the dim light of the room after Castiel hits the switch by the door. “Have fun you guys.”

Dean is waiting in the map room, his coat already on and the impala keys twirling around one finger. His nose crinkles when Castiel walks in pulling on his trench coat, the itch coursing under his skin the moment they’re in the same room together. His coat has been washed and cleaned up and looks as good as it ever did, and Castiel is rather attached to it now. Sometimes it feels a little weird to be wearing something else underneath, like jeans and a t-shirt as he is currently wearing.

“Are you seriously going to wear that?”

“You ask that every time we head out and the answer has, unsurprisingly, remained the same.” Castiel puts the money from Sam into his wallet, tucking it safely into one of the inner pockets of the coat. “Sam is having another of his attacks and asks that you and I continue the evening as planned.” He holds out his hand to stop the inevitable path Dean starts toward the bedrooms. Dean’s steps carry him within inches of Castiel’s hand and the itch abates momentarily the closer he stands. “He is attempting to sleep now and asked that you don’t disturb him.”

Dean’s expression twists into an odd mix of frustration and concern. “Maybe we should do a rain check. I don’t feel right going if Sammy’s not going to be with us.”

“He said you’d say that.” Castiel neatly twists the keys out of Dean’s hand while his attention is on the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “He also said that you’ve been looking forward to this for too long for us to postpone it and tonight is his treat.” Ignoring Dean’s protest, Castiel starts climbing the stairs up. “If you’re not coming, I’ll go on my own and I’ll be taking the impala.”

“Like hell you are!” Dean’s footsteps make the whole staircase shake and Castiel steps aside on the top step, pulling the door open and holding out the keys to allow Dean to take them and go through first. Castiel even bows slightly and there’s a rush of warmth through him when the gesture – one he learned while watching TV – earns him a huffed laugh and a grin.

Once they’re buckled into the car – Castiel relishing the opportunity to sit shotgun without having to rock-paper-scissors or coin flip for it – Dean checks the listings for the movie on his phone. “We’ve got one playing in ten minutes – we could make it if I really speed, or another playing in two and a half hours.”

“I’d prefer to make it to the movie in one piece without breaking the law.” Castiel reaches forward and turns on the music, knowing one of Dean’s tapes is already in the player. He gets a warning look that relaxes once the familiar tones of Led Zeppelin play through the speakers. The music isn’t exactly his favourite to listen to, but he does like them and even if Dean plays them almost repetitively, Castiel tolerates them for his sake.

It surprises him just how much he’s willing to tolerate for Dean’s happiness.

The name of the restaurant is barely past Castiel’s lips before Dean is driving out of the garage with an excited tapping to the wheel. He drums along to the beat and sings the lyrics for the majority of the ride. Halfway through town, while stopped at a red light, Dean goes preternaturally still. Castiel is more than a little surprised to find Dean looking at him, eyes glazed over with shock when he looks at him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up a little straighter and glancing out the passenger window in case Dean saw something over his shoulder. “Did you remember a case? Did you see a sign of demons?”

Dean turns down the radio and squints at him. “You.”

“Me?”

“You were singing.”

“I was not.” Castiel slouches back into his seat, turning his eyes forward. “The light is green, Dean.”

The car jerks forward to follow the flow of traffic again, but Dean keeps glancing at him and now that Castiel doesn’t have the ability to save them should something occur while driving, the gesture is more troubling than it used to be. “Dean, keep your eyes on the road.”

“Dude, you were singing.”

“Singing would imply  that I was vocalizing. I wasn’t.”

“You were mouthing along.”

Castiel has nothing to say to that but Dean’s grin is blinding even when he isn’t looking at it. The music turns up again and it stays loud until they pull into the parking lot of a local diner with burgers Dean claims rival his own (Castiel prefers Dean’s – and that’s not just him playing favourites) and an apple pie to die for. Dean is busy flipping through the music in the old jukebox in the corner while Castiel gets the table and orders them both a beer. If Dean ends up drinking too much to drive, at least the theater is within walking distance and he should be sobered up by the end of the movie.

Dean is still looking at music when the waiter comes back with their drinks and Castiel doesn’t bother waiting for him to order the food. He orders Dean’s burger and fries, making sure to specify that there be bacon and cheese, and orders his own pasta dish with side garlic toast.

The music that starts playing from the jukebox is more Blues-y than Castiel would expect Dean to pick. In fact, it’s something that _he_ would likely pick given the options and Castiel wonders if Dean chose the song for him or if he was just in the mood. Judging by the pleased grin when Dean slides onto the bench opposite from him, knees bumping Castiel’s before they arrange each other to sit comfortably, it’s the former of those two.

He murmurs a quiet thank you around the lip of his beer bottle and Dean’s smile softens before he takes a swig of his. There’s a moment of silence where Dean checks his phone and fires off a quick text to make sure that Sam’s okay. Both his phone and Castiel’s phone beep in response.

> _Talk with him and enjoy your date._

He’s aware of social protocol and he has been in Dean’s company for long enough to not only feel comfortable in conversation, but to have no issues in carrying one out. The last half of the text makes something in his stomach flip and Castiel chooses to ignore it. Dean appears to do the same with his message and the both of them tuck their phones away in whatever pocket they tend to keep their phones in. Dean takes another sip of his beer before their conversation launches into expectations about the movie they’ll be seeing.

Dean goes on a tangent about one of the actors and another show that he’s supposed to be in that Charlie says is pretty good if you’re into that sort of thing. Castiel thinks it sounds interesting – he did enjoy Doyle’s original works quite a bit – and Dean immediately gets his phone out to text Charlie to ask to borrow the DVDs.

“I’ll even watch them with you.” Dean grins as he types the message. “But if they’re not as good as the RDJ movies, you’re going to watch the entire Aliens franchise – Predator movies included – with me, without complaints.”

The conversation carries on like that, with Dean bemoaning what little _‘quality’_ television Castiel has seen and going so far as to take out a pad of paper and pen to make an actual _list,_ much to Castiel’s amusement. More than once, while they eat, they’re knees bump, or their feet brush against each other and every small touch is like lightning up Castiel’s leg. It takes all his will power not to jump and bang his knee on the table every time the accidental touches happen (even if he’s stretching his legs out into the space between them more than he usually would). Dean hasn’t complained or told him to get back to his side of the table yet, so it can’t be too annoying.

They stretch out the time it takes them to eat the meal, the last bite of their food cold by the time they finish. It’s been over an hour since they sat down and they haven’t even ordered dessert yet. Dean takes it upon himself to order their desserts for them, since Castiel ordered the food, and it’s pleasure that curls around Castiel’s ribs when Dean specifies that Castiel get an extra scoop of vanilla ice cream with his apple pie.

The eating of the pie is done in silence. Like a cleansing ritual after the meal, but only if ‘silence’ is synonymous with appreciative groans that border on the pornographic. And Castiel has actually seen porn, so he knows the comparison is true and he can feel his ears heating up. He never used to blush when he was an angel. His vessel wasn’t synced enough with his grace to be able to achieve it. It’s been difficult to adjust to displaying emotions without realizing it.

Dean raises an eyebrow but he doesn’t say anything around the forkful of pie. But the next noise he makes is an actual moan and Castiel isn’t sure if he should kick him under the table (Sam would have certainly done so by now) or – The idea uncurls in his mind like something wicked and it’s only from habit and sheer will power that he doesn’t smile back when Dean smirks at him.

Castiel waits until Dean has another forkful on his tongue, right until the moment he’s about to make the sound. He beats him to it and though his noise isn’t even remotely as loud as the ones Dean had been making, it is soft enough that only Dean can hear it. The results are satisfactory, if not a little worrying and Castiel has to lean across the table to pat Dean on the back a few times as he coughs violently around the pie he literally inhaled.

“You play dirty.” Dean chokes out before finishing off the last of his beer.

“I’m learning from the best.” Castiel answers and Dean’s laugh is worth any embarrassment.

They do leave the car in the parking lot of the diner, tipping extra as a thank you for the permission to do so. The two blocks to the theater is filled with Dean’s quizzes about the previous movie they watched earlier this afternoon to make sure Castiel remembers who plays who and what may or may not be happening in the one they’re about to see.

Dean doesn’t seem to notice that his arm brushes Castiel’s more than is necessary while they walk side by side. And Castiel certainly doesn’t call attention to how closely they’re walking together. The side-walk is wide, so it’s not for a lack of space and every jolting brush of Dean’s hand against the back of his is almost heart stopping. They’re still discussing the differences between The Original Series and the movie from this afternoon when they reach the theater.

They each get their own tickets, but while Dean is using the bathroom (Castiel plans to go once they’ve gotten their seats), he gets Dean the largest drink size they have and fills it with rootbeer. He gets the large box of milk duds and a bag of twizzlers for himself, though he knows that Dean will likely steal half the package if given the chance. He hides both treats in his pockets and waits by the doors for Dean.

It’s the last show of the night and the theater isn’t even half full. Dean stakes out two seats directly in the middle and Castiel leaves his coat to claim his chair while he’s gone. The itch follows him from the room and dies away once he’s out the door. As soon as he steps back in, his whole left side lights up with a tingling rush of nerves and even as the lights dim he doesn’t need to see to know exactly where Dean is.

His coat is already moved by the time he makes it down the aisle to sit down. Castiel really isn’t surprised to find that Dean already has the box of milk duds in his lap. The shoulder nudge and whispered “Thanks, Cas.” is quite the surprise. He sits stunned and pleased for the duration of the previews.

It’s not even halfway through the movie that, while chewing absently on a twizzler, Castiel drops his hand from the end of the snack to the arm rest. Dean’s hand is, unsurprisingly, already there. He immediately lifts his hand and murmurs a quick apology and lays it over his own thigh instead, trying to ignore the tingling in his fingers and how they remember the brief contact with the rough skin of the back of Dean’s hand.

Dean doesn’t even acknowledge it and Castiel gets caught up in the movie again. He ends up trying to place his hand back onto the armrest three more times in the next hour. Castiel knows for certain that at least one of those was by accident. By the third time, Dean makes an annoyed sound around the crunch of a milk dud and Castiel braces himself for the reprimand. It never comes. What he does get is Dean turning in his seat to look at him until Castiel turns his head too.

“Cas.” He leans in to whisper it and Castiel leans in to. “Cas, is this a date?”

“Sam certainly seems to think so if his text message is anything to go by.” Castiel responds, wary of looking away from the narrow eyed squint he happens to be on the receiving end.

Dean turns back to the movie and Castiel barely finishes thinking that that’s the end of it before Dean is leaning in again, this time without taking his eyes from the screen. “Do you want it to be a date?”

Castiel isn’t sure if he’s equipped with the proper knowledge to make that decision.“Do _you_ want it to be a date?”

There’s another several minutes before he gets his answer. It comes in the form of Dean dragging his hand from his lap to the arm rest and Castiel’s heart rate increases to what must be a dangerous level as Dean intertwines their fingers. The end of his current twizzler gets lost to the sticky theater floor and Castiel spends a good five minutes - at least - staring at their hands in the changing lights of the movie. It feels like his whole arm is going numb from the heat of Dean’s palm against his own and the electricity it seems to pulse under his skin.

“You’re gonna miss the movie.” Dean murmurs, jostling Castiel with his shoulder again.

He looks up and Dean is slouched in his chair, feet propped up against the seat in front of him and a mostly empty box of milk duds in his lap. But his head is tilted to regard Castiel with a side glance and he realizes, quite suddenly, that he would very much like this to be a date. And if it means he can hold Dean’s hand again, he would really like to have more of them.

Castiel nods and Dean smiles. It’s contagious and Dean’s smile only gets bigger when Castiel graces him with one of his own. He relaxes back into his chair and tightens his hold on Dean’s fingers. There’s a squeeze in response and in the end, they both find that they really enjoyed the movie.


	5. Kissing

The walk back to the car is probably more awkward than it should be. The complete silence and constant tingling in his right hand isn’t really helping matters much. It’s not helping at all, actually. Especially since he seems hyper aware of every little frikken movement that Cas makes next to him. Whether it’s to adjust his jacket or put a hand in his pocket, or turn his head to check before they cross the street – every little minute movement the bastard makes sets off little motion detectors in Dean’s brain and it’s driving him insane.

It’s not like this was his first time holding hands during a movie. He’s done a lot more than just that in the back corners of theaters across the country. Hell, this wasn’t even the first time he’s held a dude’s hand while watching a movie – thank you very much, Sammy, for being a chicken shit when Dean snuck him in to see Event Horizon.

But just like he’s been since day fucking one, Cas is different. Everything with him is different. Cas puts up with all his shit – all the things he likes, the crap he does. He just takes it even if Dean knows it’s something that he doesn’t like. Cas isn’t afraid to speak his mind and get up in Dean’s face when he fucks up and does something stupid, or when he’s being an ass.

They fit together just as easily as their hands did and it’s _freaking Dean out_.

It seemed a lot easier an hour ago when Cas had turned the question back on him and Dean hadn’t really thought much further beyond: yeah they were definitely on a date. He had taken the time to ask himself if it bothered him that they were on a date. And when the answer had been ‘no’ it was simple enough to take Cas’s hand and hold it and settle that annoying buzz in the back of his brain.

The same buzz that had been like a damn bee – and he will _not_ picture Cas showing up naked on the impala covered in bees – since the cave. And it only got louder after the hotel-night-that-he-doesn’t-think-about. Buzzing around his brain like a nagging girlfriend telling him to touch, to hold, to never let go and it’s not only annoying, it’s terrifying.

Yes, Dean knows the male body. He’s been with guys before. And he’s fantasized about Cas – or Jimmy, or however you want to say it – for way longer than he has any right fantasizing over anybody. (He’s pretty sure his wank sessions didn’t include Harrison Ford nearly as much as they’ve included Cas over the last few years.) That’s not the part that scares him. It’s the whole _liking_ thing that’s making him feel queasy. Dean knows that he’s close to Cas – closer than he’s been to pretty much anyone in forever – and that Cas is his best friend.

But if Cas likes him, like… _likes him_ in _that way_ – and Dean is having trouble trying to figure out if he likes Cas _that way_ too – That’s what he’s having the trouble not freaking out over. If they like each other – if hand holding turns into more – and they evolve from friendship to _relationship_. Well… Dean’s never had a healthy one of either of those and he doesn’t want to lose his best friend just because he fucked up on – well, he can’t really say _emotional relationship_ with Cas because they’re well beyond that already. ‘Profound Bond’ and all that.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, walking side by side the few blocks to the diner is torture because Dean’s hand is still warm and tingling and fucking _screaming_ at him to reach out and take Cas’s hand and he could. He could totally do that. It’s after midnight and there’s barely anyone on the streets right now and they’ll be at the car in a few minutes anyways so what harm would it do? They’re already walking close enough – and Dean may or may not be doing that on purpose – that the back of their hands brush with every swing and it would just be _so easy_.

It’s a lie to say that he’s not surprised Cas takes that step. He catches Dean’s little finger with his own and Dean’s surprised he doesn’t stumble, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blush right up to the tips of his ears as Cas’s little finger curls around his and that heat flares up his arm again, sending his nerves to tingle-heaven.

The finger holding is a little too sappy for him and Dean allows it for a few steps before he shifts his hand to accept all of Cas’s fingers to slide between his own. The burn is buried in his chest now. It feels good and Dean may or may not smile all the way to the car. The upturn of the corner of Cas’s mouth and the dip of his head sends Dean’s stomach flip flopping.

Fuck. He’s pretty sure that twelve hours ago he wouldn’t have been reacting like this. How could one frikken evening unleash the floodgates? That’s not fair. Dean demands a recount to the votes his brain took to let his senses start taking cues from his heart.

The drive home is spent with the radio cranked again. When Cas starts mouthing the lyrics Dean’s throat goes dry and he gets that same shocked, flighty feeling in felt in his chest as the first time he saw it. Something about knowing that Cas knows the lyrics to his favourite songs is like a punch in the gut and it makes him grin and drum that little bit more enthusiastically on the steering wheel.

He doesn’t say anything when Cas leans over to pull one of his hands off the steering wheel so that it rests on the seat between them, their fingers tangled together. Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Cas likes hand holding more than he does. Considering it’s probably the first time that he’s had an intimate touch like that, it's not all that surprising. Dean has no idea what Cas ever did with that Daphne chick he was married to when he was Emmanuel, and thinking about her and the time Cas – no he can’t even form those thoughts they all just make something dark and jealous and _mean_ burn in his belly.

It feels too _right_. He and Sam have been taking turns teaching Cas the ropes when it comes to being human, and all Dean’s doing is taking it up a step and teaching Cas about what it’s like to be physical. Shut _up_ , hormones that was _not_ what he was referring to. Much. Yet. No. Stop thinking about it.

Cas doesn’t let go of his hand until they’re in the garage and heading down the hall that leads to the main door. He walks ahead of Dean, since he had to stop to take the extra time to lock the car and close the garage. Dean pointedly does not bemoan the fact that the stupid trench coat completely hides how awesome Cas looks in regular clothes.

Taking him shopping and watching Cas pick out and try on clothes had been a whole new level of torture Dean never knew possible. Especially since, the first few times, Cas had the tendency to walk out of the changing room in nothing but his boxers when he was out of clothes to try on.

_Fuck._

Not a good time to be remembering that unfortunate day of his life.

Dean nearly walks right into Cas when he stops in front of the inside door. “Dude, what the hell?”

Cas turns around to face him, forehead scrunched in what Dean has come to know as his ‘thinking face’. “We agreed in the theater that this was a date, yes?”

He does not blush, he _does not blush_. “Yeah?”

“As I understand it, from the extensive research you’ve had me do –”

“Watching TV is not research, Cas.”

Dean smirks at the squint and frown it gets him, but he holds up his hands in defeat and inclines his head to gesture for Cas to continue.

“To my understanding, at the end of the date someone is walked to their door and either they are invited in for a ‘night cap’ or they exchange a kiss.”

If he had been counting it, Dean probably could have told you exactly where in that sentence his pulse tripled. As it stands, he’s a little struck stupid and he hopes to whatever dick-God may or may not be listening that he isn’t fish-mouthing like a dumbass right now. Instead he manages to choke out a “You _do_ know what a night cap is, right?”

“Either you’re referring to the actual hat worn to bed, the alcoholic beverage had before sleep, or the euphemism for sex. I’m not sure which.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Dictionary.” Cas shrugs and slides forward a step until he’s a helluva lot closer and Dean swallows on reflex. “My question, however, is leaning toward the latter.”

“You’re saying you want to kiss.” Dean blurts it and winces, but Cas only does that little smile thing with the corners of his mouth and his eyes that makes Dean’s pulse rocket up another few notches. “You wanna kiss on the first date, Cas?”

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head slightly. “This is hardly our first date, Dean. It’s only the first we’ve applied that label to. I enjoyed holding your hand and I –” Goddamn, his eyes even drop to Dean’s lips as his voice lowers a few octaves to make the words scrape down Dean’s spine. “- would very much like to try kissing you now.”

Dean’s brain goes offline and defaults to his base setting. “If you’re going by the book here, Cas, you should kiss me when you walk me to my door.”

Cas steps away and the frown is back. “We are at your door.”

“No, we’re at our door. _My_ door is inside.” As soon as he starts thinking straight again, Dean wants to kick himself. Because if that didn’t sound like he was inviting Cas back to his room, he doesn’t know what would (short of saying those precise words). Not to mention that Sam’s inside and Dean hasn’t told him shit about – well, _this_.

His eyes go wide and for a split second Dean sees the same nervous expression from a thousand years ago in that den of iniquity. He tries grinning to ease the moment and claps Cas on the shoulder. “Why’re you wanting to rush things? There’s always the next date.”

Cas seems to brighten at the prospect of getting another night out, just the two of them and he steps back enough to open the door. Nothing gets said again while they’re walking down the hall to the bedrooms. The bunker is quiet and Sam’s door is still shut. Dean beelines for it, just to take a peek and make sure the mammoth didn’t hack up a lung or something.

He hears the door to Cas’s bedroom close and there’s a little flash of disappointment in his chest. He’ll probably kick himself in a half hour for fucking up what could have been something he’s imagined more than once over the last few years. But there’s that falling-from-really-fucking-high feeling in his chest when he thinks how a kiss could lead to more and it wouldn’t just be sex with Cas – because it’s never _just_ anything when it comes to Cas. There’d be _more_ to it and he’s not sure if he’s ready for that.

Dean doesn’t turn on the light when he sneaks into Sam’s room. He can hear the snores from the door, but he still uses the light from the screen of his phone as a flashlight while crossing to the bed. Sam is in full on stomach-flop, one leg kicked out over the side of the bed and an arm dangling to the floor in defiance of every bogey-man story in the history of ever. He’s snoring into the pillow and the bowl of water on the bedside table is empty, cloth folded neatly next to it. There’s no bloody tissues in the trash can and it does have garbage in it so Dean knows Sam didn’t take the trash out.

He gets the sneaking suspicion that his little brother was _lying_ about being sick.

If he planned this out to get Cas and him to go on a date together, Dean’s not sure if he’s going to punch him or kiss him.

Dean leaves a note on the alarm clock. _I’m going to kill you._ And signs it with a heart and the letters DW. He even draws a little smiley face at the top. Let Sam piss his pants in the morning over that.

Cas is waiting outside Dean’s bedroom door when he comes out. Dean’s heart just about makes a bid for freedom and he’s pretty sure it almost cracks a rib when he turns around because Cas is standing there in bunny slippers (Dean had _not_ been able to talk him out of those) and a pair of flannel pajama pants. There’s no shirt. _Why is there no shirt?_

“Cas?”

“It’s hard to walk you to your door when you walk past it.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that and all Dean can really think about is _skinskinskinskin_. It is not an appropriate time to notice that Cas has a beauty mark above his right nipple.

“You really want that goodnight kiss, huh?”

He nods and Dean swallows again when putting himself in front of the door handle also ends up putting himself within a foot of Cas. And of course he just has to move even closer, tilting his head back to look up at him in the few inches of height difference between them. “I’ve already said that I would like to kiss you. Did my point not get across the first time? I could say it again using different words if that would help your memory.”

Dean doesn’t answer because Cas’s hands are curling into the front of his shirt and they are very, very distracting in the way that they make all the nerves on his body seem to pinpoint to that one location.

“I realized that as pleasurable as simply holding your hand in the car is, I want _more_. I want to see if kissing makes me feel as warm as having your hand in mine. I want to know if kissing you will make the itch under my skin whenever we’re in the same room go away. I want to kiss you and I want you to want it too.”

He really should have stopped Cas from turning this into a chick-flick moment sometime around when he used the word ‘pleasurable’. But it’s a little too late for that and it’s a little too late to be thinking about that fear he’s been trying not to think about since the cave that’s been out in full since the theater. It’s too late to think about much else because he dipped his head down and Cas tilted his chin up and their noses bump before he gets his lips on Cas’s and – _oh_.

It’s like lightning in a bottle and each and every nerve in his body is its own little bottle. He remembers kissing someone with a mighty similar name once and feeling this and that was a long, _long_ time ago. The name and pretty much every single memory he has slips out the window because Cas is leaning up and in, he’s pushing at Dean with his whole body and there’s suddenly a door behind his back and he’s fumbling at the handle with one hand, the other coming up to cup the back of Cas’s neck.

Cas doesn’t need much incentive to stumble after him when the door falls open. Dean has one delirious moment to wonder just how much he learned from the Pizza Man before Cas is kicking the door shut behind him and shoving his overshirt from his shoulders. 


	6. Wearing Each Others' Clothes

Cas’s hands are everywhere. They’re grabbing at Dean’s hips to pull him back in every time he takes a step back and his fingers keep pushing up underneath his shirt to spread hot and  _burning_  against his skin. And Cas is right  _there_ ; mouth fixed to Dean’s like if he breaks from there he won’t be able to keep breathing, teeth dragging over his bottom lip and tongue slip-sliding along his.

He tastes like apples and cherries.

Dean’s hands are no better. He’s got one that seems permanently fixed in Cas’s hair, fingers wound in that unruly bedhead he never seems to brush. The other doesn’t hold still. At one point it’s cupping Cas’s jaw, at another it’s running up his side and down his back. Somehow, without tripping over his feet and killing them both, Dean manages to kick off his boots and they thump against something and he doesn't care what it is.

The only time he lets go of Cas is so his shirt can get pulled over his head and then Cas gets as close as physically possible barring climbing inside of him. His chest is pressed to Dean's and he slides his arms around Dean’s back to lay hands over his spine. It’s making it really difficult for Dean to get his jeans off. He manages to get his belt undone before Cas stops him, pulling his hands away.

“No.”

Funny how one little syllable can make Dean’s heart go from humming bird to turtle. It might have actually stopped. It doesn’t seem to keep Cas from continuing to kiss him.

Dean tries stepping back again and Cas just keeps following him. At this rate they’re going to hit the bed before he can get his damn jeans off and that’s just not going to do either of them any good.

“Cas, gimme a minute to breathe and get these off –”

“Not yet.”

“ _Cas_  –”

“Not ready for that yet.” He murmurs, barely even breaking the downright serious fixation he has with Dean’s mouth and  _oh_.

If Cas is still a virgin and Dean is going for his pants then he –  _shit_. Dean starts cursing himself out loudly in his head. Of course Cas isn’t looking for sex right now – and somehow that thought makes Dean feel the most complicated mix of disappointment and relief he’s ever felt. Sex with Cas won’t be just sex and he’s actually really not sure if he can take that right now, no matter how much his downstairs brain is all on board with that particular course of action.

Somehow he manages to catch Cas’s roaming hands and he holds them flat to his hips, thumbs brushing over his knuckles. “That’s not what I meant. Give me a few minutes to get changed and we can keep this up after I’m in my pjs, kay?”

Cas leans back and Dean really has to remind himself with a broken record in his head that they won’t be having sex tonight – no matter how ridiculously  _tempting_  Cas looks right now. His hair is messed on one side from Dean’s fingers, he’s flushed in the cheeks, panting, and – Dean thinks this is the worst part, really – his lips are kiss swollen and spit shiny and  _fuck_ , did they always look that good? He was doomed the moment he held Cas’s hand in that cave, wasn’t he?

Dean tries not to feel self-conscious when Cas looks him over and he definitely tries not to be  _anything_  when he licks his fucking lips. “Fine. Hurry. No shirt.”

It hasn’t slipped his notice that Cas has devolved to one word answers and incredibly to-the-point short form sentences. It makes him want to beam with pride because  _he did that_. A few moments of kissing brought Cas to this and for a moment Dean  _really_  wants to see just how wrecked he can make him with everything else they could do.

He'll save that for later.

Because there will most definitely be a later if he has anything to say about it.

Cas moves to sit cross-legged at the end of Dean’s bed, hands resting on the foot board and his bunny slippers looking suspiciously comfortable at the side of the bed. Dean wastes no time in stripping out of his jeans and socks, fully aware that Cas is watching every move he makes. He pulls on a pair of sweats and when he reaches for a t-shirt Cas makes a sound that’s a borderline growl. It chases goosebumps across his skin and Dean dumps the shirt on the floor in favour of turning on the bedside lamp before getting the switch by the door.

“C’mon, get up here.” Dean gets under the blanket and pats the spot on the bed next to him. “We’ll make out some and if you want to stay the night, you can. Nothing more, nothing less. Promise.”

Dean doesn’t even get the chance to appreciate the sight Cas makes crawling up the bed. Cas is next to him and under the covers almost as fast as he can blink. He reaches over to turn off the light and when he turns back, Cas is right there in the dim glow from his alarm clock. He’s pressed up against Dean’s side in a way that’s all too similar to that night at the motel. But instead of tears on his collarbone, it’s Cas’s mouth and he's half rolled on top of Dean.

It’s a little weird for him to tilt his head back and let someone at his throat, but Cas is just exploring. He’s rubbing stubble against his neck, tasting his pulse and the line of his jaw. Cas does eventually find his way back to Dean’s lips and it’s nirvana all over again. The appreciative little groan sounds too loud in his room and Dean lets that and the kisses and the slide of hands over shoulders, backs and sides, distract him from that whole making-out-with-Cas-in-his-bed thing.

This isn't even remotely how he thought the night would turn out.

Cas is taking to kissing like he did to holding hands. Just like how he did with crossword puzzles (Dean had to buy at least ten different books full of them before Cas was satisfied with just doing the one in the daily paper), and butter chicken (they've ordered so much Indian food in the last month that Dean’s pretty sure he’s never going to eat it again). And pretty much everything else he’s discovered he  _really_  likes since he fell.

Dean foresees lots of kissing in the near future. He’s probably going to have to lay some ground rules down before he ends up against a wall in the middle of interrogating a demon, or something equally damaging to his reputation.

For a while he lets Cas have his fun, lets him kiss and suck and explore. Cas finds out, with the accidental drag of his thumb, that if he doesn’t want things to go any further than this, then he should probably keep any and all hands and mouths away from Dean's chest. He finds the spot under Dean’s jaw that makes him bite his lip and dig his fingers into Cas’s back. The stretch of skin just behind and below his ears earns Cas a few choked off noises that sound a little too close to outright  _moans_  for Dean’s liking and it’s when Cas spends more than a few minutes nipping at those spots that he decides it’s  _his turn_.

Rolling them occurs without a fight and there’s a rumble in Cas’s chest that sounds suspiciously like a purr when Dean starts his own exploration. It registers somewhere in the back of his mind that this is still in the dark - but at least their first kiss happened with the lights  _on_.

Cas tenses when his mouth finds his throat and Dean very carefully maps it with his tongue. He knows Cas has issues about his throat after what Metatron did and if he tells him to stop, Dean will. Aside from the tighter grip on his shoulder, Cas doesn’t do anything more than stifle little gasps whenever Dean finds a particularly sensitive spot.

It takes every ounce of will power he has to stay above the collarbone.

He finds a this one spot on the side of Cas’s neck that has him squirming and making a noise that throws up great big flashing red lights in Dean’s head. As much as he’d love to lay there and lavish that one spot with the same care and attention he gives his car, if he does that he’s pretty sure this is not going to end with the PG rating Cas wants.

It nearly kills him to draw away. Cas’s glare is strong enough to actually  _feel_ in the dark and Dean pulls him in for a slow, lazy kind of kiss that’s just as nice as all the others.

“You staying?”

Cas nods and hums contentedly, tucking against Dean’s side again and getting as much skin on skin as he possibly can. Dean makes a face at the cold feet – how the hell are they even cold in the first place? Cas’s hands are warm, why are his feet cold? Not awesome. Not even slightly. His downstairs brain is still trying to kick start a party in his pants and Dean has to think about things like Grandpa Samuel in a speedo to make it decide that maybe tonight really isn’t the best night to try anything.

Dean’s not sure who drops off first. He remembers lazy kisses against the side of his jaw and warm breath on his neck and the next thing he knows his pillow is poking him sharply in the forehead and squirming annoyingly under his cheek.

“Get up, Dean.”

He turns his face and rubs his nose against smooth skin, tightening his arms around a slim waist. “Five more minutes.”

“Stop squeezing and  _move_. I have go to the washroom.”

“Should’a thought’a that b’fore y’got all comf’table.” Dean mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut against the bedside light when it flicks on. He has no idea what time it is, but his gut is telling him it’s too-fucking-early o’clock and he’s cultivated a very warm, very comfortable, sleep zone and he’ll be damned (again) before he gives it up.

“If you don’t let go, I  _will._  And we’ll see just how well the memory foam remembers  _that_.”

Dean rolls away with a groan. “You’re the devil.”

“No, he was my brother.” Cas replies smoothly and the bed bounces when he gets up. It feels colder instantly and Dean’s skin feels all tingly under his cheek and down his side and along his arms.

He lifts his head to see the clock and it’s actually not as early as he thought it was, but it’s a day off for them and he doesn’t have any plans beyond car maintenance and he’s going to  _sleep in_  dammit. He’s also pretty sure he left a good half dozen hickies over Cas’s collarbone and probably on his neck too and he’s not sure if Sam would be comfortable seeing that.

“Go put a shirt on before you catch a cold.” Dean grunts out and drops his face back into the pillow.

There’s a shuffling sound at the end of the bed and Dean can’t help peeking, curious. Cas is pulling on a shirt and Dean’s pretty sure that he didn’t come in here wearing one last night so where did he even – oh, that’s his. That’s  _Dean’s_  Metallica t-shirt. The one with the hole by the hip when he caught it on baby’s undercarriage and the stain in the shoulder from changing her oil.

“That’s mine.”

“It is.”

“Go get your own.” Cue ignoring how his stomach feels like it’s floating and there’s a tightness in his chest when Cas tugs at the hem, glancing down to look at where his finger pokes through the hole.

“Too far.”

“Cas –”

“It’s only to the washroom. I’ll be right back.”

And then Cas is out the door in those fucking bunny slippers and Dean grumbles, pushing his face back into the pillows again. He outright  _groans_  when he hears Sam’s entirely too chipper voice in the hall with its disgustingly audible smile.

“Mornin’ Cas. Nice shirt.”


	7. Cosplaying

Castiel knows they have a visitor before he even leaves the bedroom. It’s the only reason Dean wouldn’t be sleeping in. It’s the cold bed, the desperate need to visit the bathroom, and the craving for coffee that makes the decision for him to crawl out of Dean’s bed and shuffle down the hall.

He stopped thinking about how, in the week since their first date, he’s spent the majority of his nights sleeping in Dean’s bed. It was a seamless transition and Dean hasn’t complained (yet) about Castiel’s constant need to touch his skin with as much of his own as he can. He understands now why people seek comfort in the bodies of others. Physical contact is pleasurable on innumerable levels. Most of those levels, the more intimate ones, seem to be exclusive to Dean.

He should have remembered Sam isn’t very comfortable with being hugged by him. Especially while they are both shirtless. Sam is warm too, but he’s not as comfortable to hug as Dean is; too tall and angular – he’s lost so much weight during the trials. He has a different aftershave than Dean does and it’s not unpleasant, but it makes Castiel’s nose itch if he breathes it in for too long.

At least Castiel knows now that Dean has a jealous streak. The kiss marks Dean had left that night, all of them situated above the collar of his shirt, are very noticeable and every time they’ve gone out over the last week Castiel has received several odd stares from people. Looking in the mirror now, while washing his hands, he sees that they’re still dark smudges against his throat. It’ll be another week before they’re gone – in which case, Castiel might just do something to provoke Dean to do it again. Dean bears his mark on his soul, it’s only right that Castiel carries a physical one of him.

When he steps into what is now considered the ‘dining room’, he sees who their visitor is. The red hair reminds him of Anna and Castiel feels a pang of regret, of guilt and loss. There’s something about the way that Dean and Charlie have their heads together over the table that makes Castiel very uncomfortable. He hasn’t even had his first cup of coffee yet and there’s already dread curling in his stomach. Especially when Charlie looks up and _grins_ at him.

“Nice slippers! Sleep well?”

Dean snorts, not even looking up from the tablet he’s flicking his finger across. He mumbles something about cold feet and Castiel shrugs, continuing his shuffle toward the kitchen. It wouldn’t be a problem to start wearing socks to bed, but he prefers touching as much of Dean’s as he can. And he’s only shared Dean’s bed every other night this week, so he’ll take as much as he can get when he can get it.

Holding Dean’s hand in the theater, and taking it in the car had been very… addicting. The heat of his skin, the way it fully soothed the itch that crawled in his veins. Everything about touching Dean just makes Castiel feel calmer, more centered, more okay with being here and stuck like _this_.

Kissing him is the exact opposite and Castiel finds himself craving it at all times. Even though Dean can taste like things his had to eat or drink, there’s another taste he hasn’t quite been able to figure out no matter how many times he kisses him. And his skin has a whole different taste in so many different areas – even though Dean hasn’t let him taste below his collarbone and that might be because of what Castiel had said the night of their first kiss.

At times it’s a relief. At others it’s nothing short of frustrating and he regrets ever saying the words. He’ll have to rectify that oversight as soon as possible. Because Dean without his pants means more skin and more heat and more everything that Castiel has spent a week getting dangerously addicted to.

Sam is standing in front of the coffee machine, stirring in the low fat sweetener to his own steaming mug. He side steps out of the way for Castiel to pour himself one too and they both lean back against the counter, listening to the hushed voices in the other room.

“I suppose you must know what those two are up to, don’t you?” Sam nods toward the door.

“No.”

“Dean didn’t tell you?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, aren’t you two… ? Y’know.” He trails off and waves his free hand in a vague gesture that Castiel thinks might mean something sexual, but he’s not sure.

His answer is to raise one eyebrow while regarding Sam over the edge of his mug as he drinks.

“If you’re implying that we have a sexual relationship, you should know that aside from kissing we don’t actually do anything else but sleep in Dean’s bed.”

Sam winces, his nose scrunching up as he rubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t really want to know what you two do behind closed doors. Besides, I was talking more about you’re… _relationship_.”

“Our relationship hasn’t changed beyond what I just told you.” His coffee needs more milk and Castiel turns to the fridge to fix it.

“But what about the hugging incident the other day?”

“What about it?”

“Dean was _jealous_.”

“I fail to see your point.”

Sam sounds more exasperated the longer they talk. “Aren’t you two exclusive?” At his questioning look, Sam elaborates. “Y’know, dating? _Boyfriends_?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” It’s true. Neither one of them has broached the subject.

There’s a beat of silence and Castiel looks up from stirring his coffee. Sam’s expression is a strange combination of shock, disbelief, and anger. He sets his mug down carefully on the counter and puts both hands on Castiel’s shoulders.

“Cas, are you telling me – are you saying that you and Dean are _friends with benefits_?”

The term is familiar and Castiel thinks it over, his eyes going unfocused as he tilts his head to the side slightly. It’s a habit he’s had since he first took over Jimmy’s body. He and Dean are, for all intents and purposes, friends - although their bond runs deeper than that. He considers both Dean and Sam as family, but what he feels for Dean is most certainly different than what he feels for Sam. Sam is more like a brother. Dean is… Dean is… He doesn’t know.

“Under these circumstances, I suppose the term could apply.”

Sam looks horrified and he quickly leaves the kitchen. Warning tingles at the base of his skull and Castiel abandons his nearly empty cup of coffee to follow him. Dean and Charlie are no longer in the dining area and Castiel follows Sam as he starts looking for them. He’s fairly certain that Sam isn’t pleased with this news and is going to confront Dean and as intrusive as that is, Castiel doesn’t mind getting the clarification.

They find Charlie and Dean outside, standing over Charlie’s trunk. When they approach, they both look up and their grins are disturbingly similar. Dean pulls out two bags from the trunk and Castiel catches the one he throws at him. Sam catches the other and they both look inside.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam looks up from the bag with narrowed eyes while Castiel continues staring at the contents of his. He recognizes the folded clothes, but he doesn’t understand why they’re in there.

“Nope!” Charlie laughs, taking out another two bags and giving one to Dean. They start towards them. “We bought the tickets online this morning and we’re leaving in an hour. Go get changed.”

Dean’s hand on his shoulder guides him to turn around and he starts pushing him back toward the bunker. “C’mon, Spock. I’ll help you get your ears on and Charlie said she’d help you with the eyebrows.”

“It’s not Hallowe’en.”

“No, but it _is_ a convention in the next town over and Charlie thinks it’s a travesty that none of us have ever been to one, so we’re all going. In full costume.” Dean’s hand slips across his shoulders until his arm is resting over them and they’re walking side by side. He sounds excited and his obvious joy is making Castiel’s stomach feel like he’s falling.

He reaches for Dean’s bag. “Who are you going as?”

Dean holds it out of reach. “You’re just gonna have to wait and see.”

“I don’t know why I bothered to ask. You wouldn’t deign to be anyone but Kirk.”

His grin is almost blinding and Dean leans in to kiss him on the cheek quickly. “Bingo!” He tilts his head toward Sam and Charlie walking ahead of them. “And that there is our Bones and Scotty.”

An hour later and Castiel’s forehead feels weird with makeup and the glue used for the Vulcan points makes his ears itch. Dean made him shave closer than he ever has before and his cheeks feel obscenely smooth. The costumes fit almost too well (suspiciously so) and Castiel isn’t sure how it’s physically possible for Charlie to hide all her hair under the wig she’s wearing.

They’re all in the impala on their way to the convention now and Castiel is pointedly _not_ sulking (because a Vulcan does not sulk) that Charlie usurped the seat with her status as Queen of Moondoor. Seeing as he’s not a member of her court (“Yet!” as she promptly reminded him) he doesn’t think it entirely fair that they didn’t flip a coin to determine between them. Dean keeps grinning at him in the rearview and Castiel is pretending he doesn’t notice.

Sam hasn’t said a thing and Castiel suspects he’s getting ready to say to Dean what he didn’t have the chance to before. Castiel is interested in having the conversation, but at the  same time he feels nervous and he doesn’t like that twisting feeling in his gut. What if it only serves to break things instead of helping it? What if Sam’s mention of it costs him what little he has with Dean?

Castiel reaches across the backseat to touch Sam’s arm. As soon as he has his attention, he shakes his head just once. Sam’s expression grows pinched and his frown deepens. Castiel repeats the motion as he withdraws his hand and Sam’s shoulders slump. Relief floods through him and he relaxes in his seat. The eyes in the rearview mirror are curious and they flick between the road and him enough times to make Castiel feel uncomfortable about Dean’s driving.

“Keep your eyes on the road, lover boy. Cas isn’t going anywhere.” Charlie pats Dean on the shoulder while playing with her phone with her other hand.

Even the back of Dean’s neck flushes red and it’s an interesting enough reaction that Dean doesn’t look back at him again for the rest of the ride. He doesn’t even give a snarky comeback, turning up the music instead. It’s another song Castiel knows – he’s got most of the memorized by now – and he mouths along with it. Dean’s smile reflects back at him through the side view mirror, skewed slightly by the angle and the window.

Now would not be the best time for them to have the conversation about their relationship. One day, maybe, but not right now. Castiel knows there’s too much past hurt between him and Dean for them to have anything beyond this. Depending on how that eventual conversation goes, they might never progress past here, and that thought scares him. That fear means more than he wants to think about right now and he’s happy to put off anything like that for now. They’ll come in due time.

He’s happy with what they have. 


	8. Shopping

Castiel has always liked humans.

Today he is rethinking this outlook. There are just _so many_ of them all crammed into this one building. He prefers sitting and watching them, not having them pushing and shoving around him. And quite a few of them smell bad. At least half the crowd is in costume and some of the costumes require giving them space and that just makes it more difficult to move in the narrow aisles between all the tables.

It’s making him feel claustrophobic.

Dean is intent on seeing every table and Castiel isn’t sure what the difference is. They all sell memorabilia of some show, game, movie, or otherwise. Sam managed to slip away somewhere back by the comic book tables and Charlie was lost by a sectioned off area full of people sitting around tables with paper and dice scattered in front of them.

Castiel’s arms are getting heavy with the bags of DVDs that Dean bought to build his library back at the bunker. It had been a grievous error on Castiel’s part to have mentioned to Dean that he hadn’t seen the majority of the available merchandize while they were standing over that particular table.

He’d bought as much as his credit card could afford.

“Seriously, Cas, if you see anything you wanna get, do it.” Dean puts down the boxed action figure he was holding. He ends up pressing close to Castiel’s side while squeezing around other people trying to get to the table.

It’s strange how uncomfortable he feels when other people brush against him as they go by, but having Dean this close is… comforting. The itch is gone and when Dean places a hand in the small of his back to guide him through the crowd to the next table, it actually makes him feel _warm_ all through his insides and he can feel heat crawling up his neck and along his ears.

“I don’t covet possessions like you do.” He murmurs, loud enough for only Dean to hear. “I’ve never had the need for anything.”

“Well, now you do. You have a room, and empty shelves, and don’t lie. I know about the photo and the little charms you keep in your coat.” Dean says the last part almost directly into his ear and Castiel can feel his breath on his neck. It chases a tingle down his spine that runs full tilt into the heat spreading from the hand and he mourns its loss when Dean stops them at the next table to check out some t-shirts.

He grins and holds up one with ‘Live Long and Prosper’ written eloquently across the front of it underneath the trademark Vulcan salute. Dean checks the tags on it and a few other shirts before buying them.

“Are you sure you can afford all of this, Dean? We don’t exactly –”

“Don’t worry about it.” He steps close  with his bag of shirts and guides Castiel forward with the damned hand in place again. “I’ve got a half dozen credit cards and we can go hit up a few pool halls this weekend to up the cash flow.”

“Our second date is not going to be pool sharking, Dean.”

That actually makes him stumble and Castiel looks at him steadily while Dean stares at him in apparent surprise, his mouth open and jaw working but there are no sounds. Someone makes an exasperated noise and shoves past Castiel impatiently, clearly not pleased that they stopped in the middle of the aisle. Dean grabs his arm and pulls him through the maze of tables until they reach a wall and the crowd is drastically thinned out.

“Jesus, Cas, you can’t just go and _say_ stuff like that.” Dean puts his bag down by his feet and slumps against the wall.

“Is it because someone might hear? I really don’t care what other people think, Dean.” He welcomes the chance to give his arms a rest and copies the action. This is a part of humanity he’s still having trouble adjusting to. Now he can’t spend all day standing without his feet getting sore. It’s annoying to feel things like aches and pains.

“I know that, and I don’t care all that much either.” Dean shrugs and looks around at the crowd. The way he stretches up onto his toes is enough to make Castiel think he’s looking for Sam or Charlie. “I meant you can’t just spring stuff on me like that outta nowhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we speak of our third date.”

Dean’s expression is hard to read when he looks at him and Castiel hesitates to mention further what this thing between them is. He has to remind himself that he’s happy with what they have between them right now, and that Dean already said there would be other dates. It’s Castiel’s own insecurities that are seeking the confirmation that there really will be.

It has nothing to do with how, after thinking about it all morning, he’s not entirely pleased that Sam thinks they’re friends with benefits. They’re more than just friends. Castiel knows it and he’s certain that Dean does too. But if he brings about that conversation and all the conflict between them from the past few years is brought up, he doesn’t know if this fragile thing they have between them right now will survive Dean’s anger.

A teasing smile forms on Dean’s lips and Castiel feels a nearly overwhelming urge to kiss it away. “You sure you’ll be able to stand me long enough for a third date?”

He notices Sam making his way toward them through the crowd. Charlie is with him and they’re both carrying bags of their own. They’re probably going to have to make a trek out to the car to unload before they continue through the rest of the convention. Charlie wants to sit in on a few panels held by some actors and writers and Sam wants to watch an airing of a ‘never before seen’ episode of some show only he watches.

Dean spots them too and stoops to pick up the DVD bags. Castiel gets the bag of shirts and while they’re both bent over, heads together, he speaks and Dean’s fingers actually twitch to a stop while reaching for one of the handles.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”


	9. Hanging out with Friends

A day at his first convention and more than half of it’s been spent thinking about what the hell Cas could have meant with “I’m still here, aren’t I?”. Yeah, he’s still around, but it’s not like he has much choice. Well, he does have the choice. That’s what they’ve been fighting for since the day they met. Free will and all that. And they got that, more or less, after the Apocalypse That Never Was. Except Naomi kinda took that from him and – fuck. It’s giving Dean a headache.

It’s enough of a brain hurt that he lets Sam drive home. Charlie vetoes anyone’s attempts to take the front seat – even _his_. Queendom and chivalry prevail once again and Dean probably shouldn’t be sitting in the back seat with Cas when he can’t stop thinking about _what he meant_. There’s the obvious meaning that he’s stuck around Dean this long – through the worst possible things, even – so the chances of him staying for a third date are pretty fucking high.

But there’s still something niggling in the back of his brain telling him that Cas meant _more_ than just that and Dean can’t figure out _what_.

He tilts his head back against the seat and closes his eyes to the ceiling. Sam plays some radio station Dean’s never heard before but they’ve got shit taste in music and he’d complain, but Sam’s driving and he’s got radio powers. It doesn’t help that his fingers are twitching and his left side is tingling. Cas is a little more than two feet away and Dean could _easily_ reach across the space and just _touch_.

Fuck.

He hasn’t been like this in years and it’s messing with him.

Why isn’t Cas reaching over to hold his hand? It’s right there on the seat between them. Cas could take it easily. It’s closer than it had been when he’d been holding the steering wheel and Cas had pulled it from there. Is he waiting for something? Or is it because Sam and Charlie are right there in the front seat and after Dean had laid down the ground rules on the second day, Cas hasn’t been touchy feeling in front of anyone. It’s been confined to when they’re alone and Dean’s fine with that, he’s never really been into the graphic PDA.

Now he understands that _itch_ Cas mentioned. How the hell does he deal with it?

Dean drums his fingers on the seat, trying to get Cas’s attention. Maybe that’ll work. Make him think about his hand and he’ll want to hold it and Dean doesn’t have to think about how frikken _sappy_ it is that he really wants to hold Cas’s hand. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he’d say he wanted to do more than just hold his hand. There’s a list longer than his arm of things he wants to do to Cas.

After a few minutes, it’s apparent that Cas isn’t going to rise to the bait. Dean tilts his head and cracks open one eye to take a peak. Cas has his temple to the glass and his eyes are closed, hands folded primly in his lap. His first thought is actually _jealousy over a goddamn window_. If Cas is tired he should be leaning on Dean’s shoulder instead.

The rest of the ride is suffered in silence and Dean spends most of it trying to figure out a way to get Cas to lean in the opposite direction. Sam being an old lady and taking left turns like it’s his first time behind the wheel doesn’t help. If he’d take them a little sharper, maybe Cas would tilt right over and Dean would have the perfect excuse to let him sleep on his shoulder.

Of course nothing’s happened by the time they pull up in the garage and Cas only wakes up when someone opens their door. He blinks blearily and stifles a yawn before getting out of the car. Everyone helps carry their new hoard into the bunker and Cas mumbles something about washing off the makeup and taking a shower as soon as the bags he’s got are added to the pile building on the map table. He’s already picking at the ear points as he shuffles off toward the bathroom.

“Yeah, changing out of these sounds like a plan.” Dean starts after him. “Charlie, you staying?”

She looks up from where she’s going through the DVD bags. “You just bought the first season of Game of Thrones. I’m not leaving your couch for an indeterminate amount of time. Hope you’ve got popcorn.”

He gives her a thumbs up and turns down the hall toward his bedroom. Cas is a little ways ahead of him and really isn’t expecting Dean to crowd in behind him as he steps into the bathroom. Dean kicks the door shut, grabs Cas and presses him up against the sink. He catches wide blue eyes for all of two seconds before Cas gets what’s going on and meets him for the kiss.

Somehow he ends up with his back to the door and Cas’s hands under his shirt, cool fingers spread over his ribs. He’s got his hands fisted in Cas’s hair, pulling apart what took Charlie ten minutes and half a can of hair spray to tame into something Spock-ish.

Cas breaks away with a dragging bite to his bottom lip that is going to compromise Dean’s pants if he does it again. He presses up against Dean, nose against his neck and just _leans_ into him. Dean’s arms end up somewhere around his shoulders, since Cas has gone full on octopus and has his arms slung around his waist, hands tucked up his back under his shirt. Whatever had been bothering him since the convention feels like it melted away and _this_ feels good, this feels right and Dean doesn’t really want to move anytime soon.

“You should go shower now.”

He hums and the sound vibrates against Dean’s throat where Cas presses his lips to his pulse. “You could join me?”

Dean goes still and something _hot_ spikes through him like a lightning bolt. He laughs and lets his thumb rub against the back of Cas’s neck. “I could. But showers really aren’t all that fun with shorts on.”

Cas shifts and his nose bumps under Dean’s jaw. “We don’t have to wear shorts…”

It’s like his brain short circuits and Dean stares at the opposite wall over Cas’s shoulder long enough that Cas actually pulls away, looking concerned and nervous and wow. It’s been a week and Cas is ready for full frontal? Or maybe it’s his skin-thing again. Dean noticed on the third night Cas crawled into his bed, stripped him of his shirt, and curled against him.

He grins and dips forward to press a much shorter kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth. “Rain check? They’re gonna be wondering where I am, and Charlie wants to start a Game of Thrones marathon.”

“I’ll join you when I’m done, then.” Cas turns his head and leans in for a better kiss that lasts longer than either of them were really planning and it nearly kills Dean to leave it, to fumble the door open and slide out before Cas starts getting naked because if Cas gets naked there’s no way Dean’s going to be able to _think_ let alone leave.

While he’s in the bedroom he gets a text from Sam.

> _Stop making out with Cas and get back here. Kevin just dropped in with info about a case from Garth. What do you know about shape shifting snakes?_

Looks like they’re going to be researching through the episodes then. Charlie’s probably going to want to help and Dean should really look into getting a TV installed in the research room. Then they could watch stuff while researching and it wouldn’t suck having to cart ancient books to the rec room. He takes the info to Cas and finishes changing.

Charlie and Kevin are squeezed onto one end of the couch, heads together over Charlie’s tablet-come-bestiary. Sam dragged in a TV table and a chair from the dining room table and there’s a stack of books next to him. Dean takes one and drops into the only open space on the couch. Kevin passes down the documents that describe what makes Sam think it’s a shape shifting snake and Dean reads it over with the menu screen playing on the screen.

Half an hour later and Cas shuffles into the room with his bunny slippers, pajama pants and what Dean is absolutely positive is one of _his_ sweatshirts. It’s too big on Dean when he wears it and Cas’s slimmer frame is practically swimming in it. He’s dragging his blanket and frowns at the utter lack of space on the couch for him.

Dean takes one of the pillows, stands up and gestures for Cas to take his place. Cas grabs one of the books too and settles into the vacated spot with the blanket around his shoulders. There’s not enough room for him to have his legs up and Dean drops the pillow on the floor in front of him, sitting on it with his back between Cas’s knees.

They start the first episode after they microwave six bags of popcorn and split it between three bowls – one for Sam, one for Charlie and Kevin, and one for Dean and Cas. No one says anything about Cas’s hand brushing through Dean’s hair while he reads – more interested in research than he is the show on the TV. Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t read a single word and he’s only half aware of the plot in the episode. Whatever weird massage thing Cas is doing with his fingers on his scalp is _really_ distracting.

At some point Kevin makes a comment about the difference in the episodes and the book and it starts a heated debate between him and Charlie. It should annoy Dean, but it’s really not. He’s comfortable and, for what feels like the first time in a really long time, feeling _happy_.


	10. Hurt/Comfort

The tomes in the library say the shape shifting snakes are yuxa; century old snakes that take the form of beautiful women so they can make babies with humans. Different texts relate them to dragons and winged snake demons and either way, a good old beheading does the job. A salt and burn won’t hurt either, in Dean’s opinion.

Relatively speaking, it’s a short drive to Fort Sheridan in Illinois. It’s isn’t even twelve hours of good music, Cas sitting with his knees up against the glove box and Sam snoring away in the backseat. He’s slumped over one of the comic books he bought at the convention and it’s like an overly nostalgic blast from the past. Dean can’t help glancing in the rearview mirror and grinning like an idiot.

It’s not even an hour into the drive before Cas reaches across the seat and tugs at the sleeve of Dean’s shirt. Dean drops his hand to the seat between them without a second thought for their fingers to tangle together. Cas has a book propped open against his knees and even though they’re on their way to kill some stuff, everything feels really good.

Twenty-four hours later and that good feeling is all but gone. They don’t even have the time to burn the bodies. There’s too much panic and blood and no matter how hard Dean presses, the red keeps bubbling up and soaking through the shirts and the towels and everything else that Dean pushes against Cas’s side.

Sam has his foot on the gas and Dean doesn’t pay much attention to the roads. He’s too focused on trying to make the goddamn blood stop. But it’s not. It keeps squishing up between his fingers and the grip Cas has on his shoulder keeps getting more slack by the minute and he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. The little hissed gasps whenever Dean pushes down again are fewer and far between and –

“Drive _faster_ , Sammy!”

“Almost there, almost there.” Sam keeps muttering but he’s been saying that for what feels like forever and Cas just keeps _bleeding_.

Cas’s hand slips down his arm, fingers clenching spastically by his elbow and it’s scaring the piss out of Dean. He covers Cas’s hand with his own and makes sure he has Cas’s eyes on his. “You hold on, Cas. Just keep holding on to me. Don’t let go. Stay with me.” There are fewer things he’s said with more conviction. “ _Stay with me._ ”

The moment they pull up at the emergency entrance to the hospital, Sam runs in covered in his own cuts, bruises, and however much of Cas’s blood got on his clothes when they were getting him into the impala. Dean has Cas half out of the car when the nurses come with the gurney. If it wasn’t for Sam, Dean would have probably punched out the guy who stops him from following Cas right into the operating rooms.

Someone sits them down to patch them up, but Dean can barely hold still. He needs to move, he needs to make sure Cas is okay because there is no fucking way he’s losing him now. Not after everything they’ve been through; the apocalypse, a civil war in heaven, leviathans, _purgatory_ , the falling of the angels – Cas can’t go out like this. Not by a fucking flying snake with two heads. No, no, no, _no_.

Sam takes care of their story. Dean pays attention enough to know that it was some kind of animal attack while they were camping and Cas got bitten. They use fake IDs and insurance cards and Dean just keeps _pacing._ Up and down, back and forth, through the waiting room because if he holds still he might go insane. It’s not just the stitches, the bandages and the drying blood that’s making his skin itch. Worry is crawling through his veins and he _needs_ to know that Cas is okay, that a wanna-be dragon and a wayward claw didn’t manage to take Cas away from him.

He’s ready to shoot someone for how long it takes a doctor to come out and tell him how Cas is doing. Dean listens through the usual spiel of blood loss and the stitches and how there was internal bleeding. He might have blacked out for a moment when they tell him Cas’s heart stopped – they got it going again even though it was touch and go for a while – but Cas is okay.

Cas is alive and okay and they need to keep him under observation for the next week, but Dean and Sam are allowed to see him. Seeing Cas in that hospital bed makes something in Dean’s chest pull painfully.

Jimmy’s body isn’t small. He’s not much shorter than Dean is, and he’s built with a runner’s body – because Cas seems intent on running a million miles before breakfast some days. But in the hospital bed with all sorts of tubes and wires sticking out of him, Cas looks fucking _tiny_ and it’s terrifying.

Dean doesn’t leave the chair next to the bed longer than the time it takes to piss. Even Sam’s woeful eyes don’t bother him while he’s sitting next to the bed and holding Cas’s hand til Cas wakes up. He even sleeps in the damn thing and that is anything but comfortable. When Cas does wake up, Dean’s so relieved he damn near cries. Cas’s apologetic smile is almost too much and Sam whines about the kissing until it stops.

Two days later and they sneak Cas out. It takes a whole day to get them home because Dean refuses to go over the speed limit and they stop every few hours to make sure Cas is okay and no bumps in the road have accidentally pulled a stitch or something. Cas spends pretty much the whole drive sleeping and when they do finally get home, Dean skips Cas’s room to tuck him straight into _his_ bed.

“I’m going to make you some soup.” Dean fluffs another pillow and puts it within reach if Cas needs it. He’s collected every pillow in the bunker to make sure that Cas is as comfortable as is physically possible. “You need anything else? We’ve got a spare TV that I could bring in here if you want to watch some. Any books you want me to get?”

“Dean, this is unnecessary.”

“This _is_ necessary.” He smoothes out the blanket before going back to making sure the pillows are perfect. “You’re not going to move from this bed unless Sam or I help you. Even then it’s only into a wheel chair and to the bathroom. Y’got me?”

“Dean –”

“You almost _died_ , Cas.” Dean bites out, throwing the pillow down. “Y’get that you’re _human_ , now, right? You can’t go and put yourself between me and danger anymore when that could get you fucking _killed_.”

Cas’s face gets tight and he looks down at his lap. He doesn’t say anything and Dean reigns in his temper as much as he can. The silence gets uncomfortable for all of two minutes before Dean sighs and rubs his hand over his mouth. He takes the book that Cas had been reading before from his bag on the chair and throws into onto the bed for him.

Dean leaves him there and bangs around the kitchen for the next half hour making tomato rice soup. Whether or not Cas understand the implications of it doesn’t matter. It’s maybe not the best thing for Cas right now, but it’s all Dean can think of doing and it’s the best he can do until Sam comes back with all the medications and drips they’re going to need to nurse Cas back to health in the safety of the bunker.

Sam isn’t back by the time he’s done and Dean, begrudgingly, carries a tray back to the bedroom. Cas still hasn’t touched the book and he honestly looks surprised when Dean puts the tray down in front of him, slaps a spoon in his hand, and sits on the empty side of the bed. He mumbles a thank you and stirs the soup a bit before starting to eat.

Three spoonfuls in, Cas puts it down and rests his hands on the tray. “I’m not going to stop trying to protect you, Dean. I can’t do it as well as I used to, but it’s one of the few things I _can_ do and I don’t want to see you hurt when I _can’t heal you_.”

Dean doesn’t even know how to classify the sound that comes out of his mouth and he moves the tray to a side-table so it doesn’t get upset during what may or may not happen after he’s done pulling a chick flick moment.

“And how the hell do you think I feel? I can’t heal you, Cas, and I almost lost you. And what do you think are the chances of you coming back from it this time? How many times do I have to say ‘I need you’ before you’ll get it through that thick skull of yours that _I want you around?_ ”

Cas’s lips press into a thin line and he looks down at his hands again. Dean has to kneel on the bed to be absolutely sure that he’s not going to put any stress on Cas or his wounds when he leans in and turns Cas’s face back to him. He doesn’t let Cas lean in so he doesn’t pull at the stitches, but Cas’s hands come up to cup his face and kisses back hard, desperate, and it makes Dean think that maybe Cas really does want to stay around.

And that kinda makes everything feel really good again.


	11. Making Out

It takes nearly two weeks before Dean lets Castiel even walk on his own. He hasn’t had a proper shower since the day they left for the yuxa job and Castiel really wants to stand under the hot water and to soak away the world for as long as he can. It’s understandable that it’s not good for his wounds, but it’s what he wants. Not that he isn’t enjoying the alternative.

The highlight of his day is when Dean takes a warm, soapy wash cloth to wipe him down. Dean is overly gentle and turns the most alluring shade of red while he rubs down Castiel’s legs. Castiel can’t look away when the colour starts in Dean’s ears and spreads down his neck. It’s hard not to be disappointed when Dean leaves him alone to clean the more private areas with the cloth on his own.

The kisses are nice, but too soft and Dean never gets close enough. Dean doesn’t let him get close enough to feel the heat of his skin like Castiel likes to. It’s annoying, even after Castiel is allowed to walk around the bunker on his own – as long as he does nothing strenuous to his side (such as reaching for something on a high shelf).

It’s getting to the point that even when they’re touching – holding hands or sleeping carefully next to each other – the itch is burning under his skin. Touching isn’t enough anymore. Castiel needs more and Dean won’t let him have it while he’s still considered wounded. It’s torture and he’s counting the days down to what Dean marked on the calendar as ‘Test Day’.

It’s another week after the stitches come out before Dean is even willing to test how well he can fight. There’s a few twinges in the muscles, and the area is still sore. There will be a scar – Castiel’s first – but he still manages to pin Sam again in slightly more time than he did before. His accuracy with a firearm is as perfect as it ever was. He doesn’t quite have the same range with a blade, but it’s enough for Dean to clear him for field work again.

To celebrate, Castiel takes a shower while Dean makes burgers and Sam ensures that they’ll have salad to go with dinner. All through dinner, Castiel can barely hold still. He eats with gusto and waits the few hours before they all head to bed practically vibrating in his spot on the couch during a baseball game Dean insists they watch.

Castiel changes into his pajama pants after he brushes his teeth and waits by his door until he hears both Sam and Dean’s bedroom doors close. He counts out two minutes before slipping out into the hallway and padding down the three door down to Dean’s room. The door doesn’t even creak when he opens it and he shuts it just as quietly.

“You’re late.” Dean is already in bed and under the blankets and Castiel’s stomach feels flighty when he notes that Dean isn’t wearing a shirt. He only doesn’t wear a shirt when he knows Castiel is going to be spending the night.

He kicks off his slippers at the end of the bed and instead of getting in on the side of the bed that is unofficially his, Castiel goes around on Dean’s side. He pushes the blankets out of the way, barely taking any time to take in that Dean is only in his boxers, and climbs straight into his lap. The wide-eyed surprise is as satisfying as it is to finally kiss Dean and leaning into him and getting his hands everywhere he hasn’t been allowed to properly touch in _weeks_.

Dean fumbles for the light, slapping uselessly at the bedside table while Castiel puts to use every little thing he’s learned that Dean likes. He drags at his bottom lip with his teeth and digs his fingers into his hair. By the time Castiel gets his mouth to the spot behind Dean’s ear, Dean has given up on the light to grip Castiel’s hips tightly as he slides down the bed so he’s leaning comfortably back into the pillows.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep this to just kissing. To the slide of mouths and tongue and teeth and Castiel doesn’t even _think_ about the itch. There’s something else burning under his skin and sparks are gathering at the base of his spine. Castiel knows what arousal feels like. He’s experienced it more than once in his lifetime – both angel and human. And he’s certainly dealt with the issues of pleasuring himself for months.

Dean’s the one who pulls his hips down, pushing his legs out from under him. The pleased noise he makes against Castiel’s mouth when he’s laying on him properly makes that burn blaze into his chest and down into his stomach, and the itch comes back in full force, clawing for _more_. It takes no time at all for Dean to work him out of his pajama paints and there’s so much _skin_ touching his stomach, his chest, under his arms and along his legs.

Castiel can barely breathe. Every breath is Dean. Every touch is Dean. Everything is _Dean_. After a day of working his body when he’s barely moved in quite a few weeks, his side is sore and Castiel ignores it to rock his body against Dean’s. Rolling their hips together feels – with all the languages Castiel knows, he doesn’t have words to describe the electricity that dances through his bones and forces wordless sounds from his mouth.

The hands on his hips drag up his back and into his hair and every little touch Dean gives guides him into a glorious rhythm. It convinces Castiel that Dean is a genius. He knows Dean is smart, but right now this is the best thing Dean has ever taught him. They keep moving against each other – and more than once Castiel wishes that their shorts were gone too – through Dean gripping Castiel’s ass and Castiel moving his mouth down to Dean’s chest and finding out exactly why Dean had stopped him from doing that weeks ago.

“You – fuck, Cas, would y’stop moving for just a minute –” No, that would be absolutely the stupidest thing to do right now. “Cas – just – y’sure about this?”

“Dean.” Castiel hisses around a bite to Dean’s collarbone. “If you’re suggesting we stop, I want you to really think about that request.”

He doesn’t say another word until he groans Castiel’s name into his neck and goes still under him. It takes Castiel a little longer, but Dean is more than willing to push his thigh up until Castiel stifles a gasp against his ear.

There’s no more itch and even though it’s annoying to have to change their clothes and Castiel has to change out of his shorts and straight into his pajama pants. But settling in against Dean’s side again is – Castiel can’t find a word for this comfort, that sits in him when Dean tucks carefully against his side.

The closest he can think of is _peace._

And that’s not nearly as terrifying as it should be.  


	12. Eating Ice Cream Together

“Cas, if you want supper at any point tonight, you need to actually let me _cook_.”

There’s no actual force behind the words and Castiel doesn’t unwind his arms from around Dean’s waist and lift his cheek from the back of his neck. They were up most of the night digging graves and he hasn’t had a chance to rest since. The day has been spent doing chores they’ve been putting off and now Castiel is tired, very tired.

He doesn’t want to eat, he wants to sleep. But he doesn’t want to sleep alone. Dean is very warm and very comfortable, even standing up. Castiel hums and rubs his cheek against the back of Dean’s neck, just above the collar of his t-shirt.

“Dude, go take a nap. It’s going to take this chicken at least thirty minutes to cook.” Dean shakes the bag with the chicken in it to coat it with breadcrumbs.

Castiel shuffles over with Dean so he can put the chicken on the foil lined tray. “Nap with me.”

“If I’d known you’d get so frikken spoiled, I’d never have let you start sleeping in my bed.” Dean’s smile can be heard in his words and Castiel hums against the back of his neck. “Go take a nap, Cas.”

“Nap with me.”

Dean pats Castiel’s wrist over his stomach. “Go take that nap, let me finish with dinner, and you can have the whole container of ice cream for dessert.”

That gets his attention. “Cinnamon bun flavoured?”

“Yeah, Sam picked up your disgusting favourite.”

“The _whole_ container?” Castiel rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. He has to be sure that Dean will allow him to have the whole thing. Dean usually rations anything that Castiel likes, especially anything edible after what he refers to as ‘the butter chi-pocalypse’ – which is a name chosen in poor taste, considering they prevented the actual apocalypse.

Dean laughs. “As much of it that you can actually eat.”

“You swear upon the impala?”

“Yeah, Cas, I swear on baby.”

Castiel grins and leaves Dean to cook. The nap makes him feel even more tired than when he went down. He spends the majority of dinner picking at his food and eating much less enthusiastically than Sam and Dean. How they both manage to have so much energy without having slept is beyond him. Castiel takes longer to eat his entire meal than they do. By the time he’s done, Dean and Sam are almost done their slices of pie and scoops of ice cream.

He’s not even sure if he can eat the entire tub of ice cream after that. The heavy food in his stomach is putting him into a vegetative state that practically begs for him to go back to sleep. But Dean takes the plate away and replaces it with a spoon and the container of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Enjoy your weird-ass flavoured crap, Cas.”

Castiel picks it up and takes it to the living room after them. He sits with his feet tucked under him and his knees to his chest, ice cream container balanced between them. Dean sits next to him, arm slung over the back of the couch behind Castiel’s shoulders. Sam is stretched out in a recliner they’d found at a garage sale and flipping through the channels looking for something interesting to watch.

“Gimme some of that.” Dean reaches for the spoon after Castiel digs it into the bucket.

He knows exactly what Dean is going to say before he even puts the spoon in his mouth. Dean pulls a face, nose wrinkling and lips pressing together into a thin line. “Shit – that’s nasty. How the hell can you eat that?”

“Like so.” Castiel takes another spoonful and overly dramatizes his actions as he eats it.

Dean’s nose stays crinkled, but now it’s above a smile and that makes Castiel’s feel warm inside, even with the ice cream he’s eating. Sam settles on some movie with cowboys that Castiel has never heard of before. Castiel continues sharing his ice cream, even though Dean keeps making faces and telling himself that he’s not going to eat anymore but every five or ten minutes later, he’s reaching for the spoon again without taking his eyes off the TV.

That’s their entire evening and more than once Castiel thinks that _this_ was worth everything.


	13. In A Different Clothing Style

“I don’t even know of a form of ‘no’ strong enough to express just how much I am _not_ doing that.”

“Dean.” Sam is trying to sound firm, but he’s face first in the sink with his head under the tap and every word sounds muffled. “If I can dye my hair for this, you can put on a little eyeliner.”

“Not happening. Not in this world or the next.”

Cas’s voice comes from the bedroom where he’s changing and Dean steps out of the bathroom just so he can hear him better. “We’re going undercover. If you can’t play the part, then you can stay here.”

Dean crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders. He slumps against the door frame and glares at Sam (since it would be lost on Cas in the other room) while he wraps his hair in the darkest towel they have. It’s a temporary black dye that’ll wash out in a few showers, but Sam is going all out on his undercover outfit that they had to call up Charlie to help figure out what to wear.

“I’m not letting you two walk _alone_ into a vamp nest. Have you guys even stopped to consider how ridiculous three thirty-something guys in _goth getup_ are going to look in a club?”

There’s muffled voices in the bedroom which might be Charlie answering his question, but he can’t really tell.

Dean is honestly _really_ curious about what Charlie is doing to Cas in there. The moment she showed up with bags of outfits and hair dye and makeup, she’d shoved Cas into his bedroom and gone in after him. And she keeps _laughing_. There’s no good that could come from that and it’s killing Dean not to just kick the door down to see what the hell is happening.

This is the first job they’ve found that is more than a simple salt and burn since Cas got hurt. Dean won’t tell them, but he’s paranoid that something bad is going to happen to Cas again. Sam is actually getting _better_ since the trials, but he still gets random bouts of sickness that can come on in minutes and if Cas is still under the weather, there’s no way that Cas will be able to take care of both himself and Sam.

Besides, Dean’s the reigning king of vampire hunting and –

And –

And –

If there were other thoughts past that, he doesn’t really what they could have been. Cas steps out of the bedroom looking incredibly uncomfortable. That might be because he’s never worn leather pants before. Or it might be the too-tight muscle shirt and the long-sleeve fishnet shirt over top of that. Or it might be the spiked dog collar, or the half dozen belts somehow managing to fit on his hips. Or it could be the faux-hawk Charlie waxed his hair up into.

“Don’t you say a word, Dean Winchester.” Cas hisses at him, eyes narrowed and even sans-angel mojo he still has the whole I-will-smite-your-ass look going. “If I have to dress like this, I am not doing it alone. It’s your turn.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something, anything, but _Jesus_ those pants are tight and Cas turning away to stomp down the hall really isn’t helping his thoughts move anywhere beyond _assassassass_.

He’s a grown man, he should be better than this. But it’s been months and he and Cas are still hovering somewhere between second and third base. This is the slowest he’s ever gone with pretty much anyone and, no, they haven’t actually labeled what _this_ is but it’s good as long as neither of them so much as mention anything that happened before heaven fell. As long as they stay away from that, everything’s good and Dean _likes_ this. He likes going to bed at night and having Cas crawl in next to him more often than not. He likes Cas being touchy feely and _here_.

“Mind out of the gutter, Winchester.” Charlie grabs him by the arm and Dean doesn’t even _know_ how she gets him out of his sweats and t-shirt.

But the next thing he knows he’s in black jeans with ripped knees and boots that go too high up his calves. At least it’s just another t-shirt she put him into, but it’s got a rip from shoulder to hip over his chest that’s held together with safety pins. It looks ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as the fifteen pounds of bracelets that Charlie forces on him.

“You do know that we have to carry in machetes, right? There’s no way I’m going to be able to hide a knife on me when I’m practically naked.” He grumbles, watching Charlie warily while she roots around in a bag. “And I’m not wearing makeup. You’re not turning me into a painted whore.”

“Well do you _want_ to stick out like a sore thumb?” She doesn’t even have the courtesy to look up. “And Sam’s wearing a trench coat – no, not Castiel’s – that you’ll be able to hide your weapons in.”

“The club is dark with flashing lights and loud music. Nobody’s gonna even notice.” Dean knows he’s whining like a petulant child, but who the hell cares. “Why didn’t you put any makeup on Cas?”

“I did. You were too busy looking at his pants to notice.”

Well they are some _very_ nice pants that accentuate all the right things and they deserve all the attention he can give them. “I love you.”

“I know.” She steps up in front of him and Dean eyes the stick of eyeliner like it’s a penknife she’s going to drag over his eyelid. “Just try not to tear them when you get them off him later. They’re borrowed from a friend.”


	14. Morning Rituals

They sleep almost til noon the next day. It wasn’t just a night of beheading vamps in the basement of a goth club that tired them all out. Dean actually thinks he expended more energy in pressing Cas up against every available surface between the front door and the bedroom while Sam was in the shower, than he did during the hunt.

Dean blames the leather pants for that. Blames them and worships them and if Charlie’s friend thinks he’s ever getting them back, he is so very, very _wrong_. He is never letting them leave his room again. And Cas is going to wear them as often as Dean can get him to and never outside of the bedroom. They may or may not be his new favourite piece of clothing – right next to Cas in boxers.

One of these days he’s going to get him out of those damn shorts. At least last night, somewhere between Dean ripping the belts off and peeling Cas out of those pants, Cas had actually shoved both hands down the back of Dean’s boxers. He got himself a good grip and damn near lifted Dean off his feet to hold him in place while Cas kept rocking against him.

Cas is _really_ good at the whole dry humping and grinding thing.

And a morning following a night like that leaves Dean too satisfied to care about getting out of bed on time. They don’t have another hunt, there’s nothing threatening the world right now – any more so than usual – and Abaddon hasn’t reared her ugly head since the night the angels fell. They’re still always looking into new ways to seal Hell, and Dean knows about Sam’s not-so-secret side project about looking into reversing Metatron’s spell.

It’s a worthwhile cause to look into, but Dean’s really messed up on that subject. Getting the angels back into heaven means he could lose Cas and that’s starting to feel just as terrifying as losing Sam. This unlabeled thing between them is getting out of hand and it doesn’t have an _official_ label, but it does have one in his head. When he thinks of Cas, there’s a great big _MINE_ stamped over him.

“Dean.”

A sharp finger pokes between his shoulder blades and Dean groans, hugging the pillow tightly.  “G’way.”

The bed dips and that finger pokes again, pushing up along his spine to the back of his neck. “Dean, it’s nearly noon and I’ve already run farther today than you have walked all week. Get up.”

“G’way.” He rolls away to hide his face against the pillow more. He doesn’t even know how many years he didn’t feel safe enough to sleep more than four hours a night. Now that he’s got a home, and it’s the safest place in the whole fucking world, he’s got a backlog of missed hours to catch up on and Cas being annoying half of a morning person isn’t going to stop him from clearing that ledger.

He can feel Cas’s mouth against his ear. “There’s pie.”

Dean lifts his head and glances over his shoulder, squinting through the sleep blur. “Pie?”

Cas gets up from the bed and two seconds later Dean gets hit with a towel. “Get up and shower or you’re not having any pie.”

He sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You could shower with me.”

“If you wanted to do that, you should have gotten up when I tried to wake you up an hour ago.” Cas continues around the room, tossing a shirt and jeans on the bed. “Go.” Dean doesn’t even remember that and he’s still disappointed.

Half an hour later and Cas meets him at the entrance to the ‘dining room’ with a plate of French toast. It’s the one breakfast food Cas has actually mastered. Sam’s already sitting at the table and stuffing his face while flipping through a book. As long as Cas wakes up first – which is, surprisingly, usually any morning following a night of making out and orgasms – he’s the one who cooks breakfast. Lunch usually falls to Sam and Dean is king of supper. But this, this is nice.

Really, Dean prefers waking up with Cas in the bed. He likes waking up with his cheek on Cas’s shoulder, or Cas curled against his side. The sometimes-drool isn’t so great, but he’s already used to waking up with him. It’s one of the best parts about waking up and Dean will never, not even on the pain of death, admit that he actually hates waking up without Cas.


	15. Spooning

Castiel can’t sleep. He’s tossing and turning and not sleeping – which is never a good thing. It may be because he is too used to sleeping in Dean’s bed that he doesn’t find comfort in his own anymore. Or it may be because he had a nightmare last night that kept both him and Dean up afterward and he doesn’t want to sleep tonight in case it happens again.

It’s certainly why he chose to sleep in his own bed tonight. Dean needs all the rest he can get. There’s demon activity in Michigan, and there’s the chance that it’s Abaddon. They’re going to be heading out in the morning and Dean is, of course, going to be driving. So he needs to rest and Castiel can sleep in the car if he has to.

Maybe he should stop trying to sleep and just read. Or he could go do research on ways to fix Sam for good. Or he could repack his duffle bag for the trip, make sure that he has everything he’s going to need. There’s always the maintenance on his weapons to do. Anything to keep from having to suffer through another hour of tossing and turning.

Ten minutes later, Castiel gets out of bed and picks a book at random from the shelves Dean stocked. It’s some dystopian and Castiel only gets a few chapters in before his phone vibrates on the night stand. It’s from Dean.

> _u up?_

Interesting. It’s well after when Dean should be asleep. He responds in the affirmative and within moments he gets another message.

> _get over here_

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Castiel leaves the book on his bed, even bypasses his bunny slippers, and is down the hall in seconds. There’s no need to knock and the room is dark when Castiel slips through the door. The blankets are already thrown back on his side of the bed and Castiel is barely settled and tucked in before Dean is pulling him close.

“Y’don’t hafta worry ‘bout me being bothered by your nightmares.” Dean mumbles against the back of Castiel’s neck, fitting up against his back and looping an arm around his waist. Castiel lifts his head for Dean to wedge his other arm under the pillow. “I still have m’own. I can put up with yours too.”

Castiel covers Dean’s hand with his own and smiles into the pillow when Dean links their fingers. “It sounds like you’re asking me to sleep here every night, Dean.”

A sleepy kiss presses against the top of his spine. “Sounds that way, yeah.” Dean’s knees tuck up behind Castiel’s and he rubs his cheek against his shoulder. “If y’wanna.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Dean is snoring against the back of his head in minutes and Castiel is asleep soon after. There really isn’t anything to think about.


	16. Doing Something Together

Castiel knows he looks silly with both hands and his nose pressed to the window of their motel room. But there is something outside that he’s never had the chance to experience yet and he’s watching the other motel residents and making a list of all the things he wants to do as soon as Sam is done in the bathroom and Dean notices just what exactly has Castiel’s attention.

This plan is not working nearly as well as he had hoped.

Dean is laying face down on one of the beds. _Their_ bed. They save on room cost and they don’t have to carry around a folding cot anymore now that he and Castiel officially share a bed. It’s nice and no one is cranky in the morning – except for Sam if he thinks he hears anything happening in the other bed.

“Cas, what are you doing?”

Bless Sam for being the one to ask.

“This motel has a pool.”

He hears Dean move. “So?”

“I’ve never gone swimming before.” There’s silence as his answer and Castiel turns around. “I would like to go swimming. Preferably with at least one of you.”

Dean sits up and rubs at his face. He looks tired and Castiel feels a little bad. They’ve been driving all day and Dean hadn’t switched off with either him or Sam whenever they made a pit stop. Admittedly, Castiel would very much like to go swimming with Dean, but he’d prefer that Dean rest if he’s tired.

Sam is already going through his bag, pulling out a pair of shorts that aren’t specifically for swimming, but it’s the closest that any of them have. “Do you even know how to swim?”

“Of course.”

“If you’ve never gone swimming before, how do you know how to swim?” Dean raises his eyebrow at him and Castiel ignores it in favour of searching through his own bag for appropriate clothing.

“Muscle memory. Jimmy knew how to swim and this body will remember it. I understand the mechanics enough to be able to put them to use.” Castiel starts stripping the moment Sam shuts the door to the bathroom. “Will you be joining us?”

Dean’s answer is choked off after the first syllable. It’s an interesting reaction that Castiel takes note of. He also notes that he can practically _feel_ how intently Dean is watching his back when he drops his pants. There’s a new, higher-pitched noises that sounds a little like a gasp when Castiel bends over to pull on his shorts. Very interesting.

Castiel has been pushing the boundaries between them for the last week and a half, hoping to – at some point – push Dean far enough that he’ll understand that he wants _more_. Normally he’d just say it, but he’s not exactly sure _how_ to say it properly. And Castiel isn’t even sure if Dean is ready for them to move further.

He turns around once the shorts are up. “Will you be joining us?”

Dean is already rooting one handed through his bag, not even looking away. Castiel doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed or pleased that his body is enough to ensnare so much of Dean’s attention. He pretends to busy himself with the taking out the clothing he’ll change into once they’re done swimming. Really, he’s watching Dean just as intently as Dean watched him.

His mouth goes dry and there’s a marked elevation in both his pulse and body heat. It takes all his will power not to reach out and _touch_ or _taste_ and Castiel fights to look away. It’s won’t do him any good to do that, especially right now with Sam in the bathroom and with all of them about to head out into _public._

Castiel distracts himself by reciting the entire list of named prophets from the very start to the very end. And when that doesn’t work properly, he spells out their names in every language he can remember. That gets the job done and he’s only on the third name when Sam comes out of the bathroom with his arms full of towels.

Twenty minutes later and Castiel is the unfortunate victim of hubris. Theoretical knowledge and muscle memory doesn’t seem to be enough and having to be rescued from the deep end of the pool is humiliating. It’s a small mercy that the pool is mostly empty at this hour of the night and aside from a few inebriated couples sitting around the steps near the shallow end, they’re the only ones here.

“You doing alright back there, Cas?” Dean asks and the teasing tone is _not_ appreciated.

He tightens his arms around Dean’s neck as retribution and withholds the urge to bite the back of his neck. Dean’s hands flex under his thighs. His laughter rumbles through his back and into Castiel’s chest. It’s ticklish and Castiel presses his forehead against Dean’s shoulder harder, hiding his face against his arm because even Sam is laughing and Castiel doesn’t like being laughed at.

They stick to the shallow end and spend the time until the motel manager comes to close the pool to teach Castiel how to swim. Sam holds his forearms and Dean keeps his arms under Castiel’s waist while they guide him to kick back and forth across the shallow end. A few laps in and Sam lets go for him to practice using his arms. By the end, they’re confident that Castiel won’t drown should he ever gets tossed off a dock or a bridge during a fight.

If he has to be honest, Castiel prefers swimming when it means he gets to stay pressed against Dean’s back, his knees framing his hips with Dean’s fingers under his legs and – and that is not a good thing to think about when his only article of clothing is a pair of shorts.


	17. In Formal Wear

What did he do to deserve this? He spent forty years in hell and a year in purgatory. What the _hell_ could he have done that was so bad that after all of that he still hasn’t atoned for it? Because this? _This_ is a special kind of torture all on its own. Having to stand behind Cas and show him how to tie a bowtie in the mirror while he’s dressed to the nines in a tight fitting tuxedo is almost unbearable.

As if the shopping to rent the tux in the first place wasn’t bad enough.

Dean hadn’t enjoyed having to sit on his hands the whole time and pretend he wasn’t half hard in his pants. He blames James Bond for his unhealthy attraction to attractive men – scratch that, to _Cas_ in a tux. It really wasn’t fair having to watch the sales clerk put their hands all over Cas while helping him in and out of coats and cummerbunds and more than one pair of pants trying to find a style that fit him.

The only satisfaction he got out of it is knowing that Cas might be similarly affected when it’s Dean’s turn to get dressed. He already has his own tux – stolen from a rental shop ages ago and it still fits like a glove. Sammy is out securing tickets to the Big Ball. It looks like something demonic – something Abaddon related, maybe – will be going down at the town’s swankiest event of the year and they can’t just sneak in this time around.

“I don’t like bowties.” Cas frowns at his reflection in the mirror. “How come I’m not allowed to just wear my own tie?”

“Because bowties are cool.” Dean replies without taking his eyes off the reflection of his fingers in the mirror. He may or may not be standing closer to Cas than he needs to while finishing knotting the tie.

Cas snorts and grins at Dean in the mirror. “Rule number one, the Doctor lies.”

“Charlie didn’t sit us down and force us to watch the entire series of Doctor Who just so you can out quote me on it.” He makes a face at Cas over his shoulder and pats his chest when he’s done. “There. Don’t you look dashing?”

He hums and if  Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say Cas is purposefully leaning back into him. “Thank you for helping me. Would you like me to help you get changed?”

See, Cas probably doesn’t mean that the way Dean thinks he does. But it doesn’t stop his brain from going to the dark side and thinking about every way he could drive Cas wild without messing up his monkey suit. And it doesn’t stop his hands from slipping down to hold Cas’s hips or turning his nose behind Cas’s ear and fixing his mouth to that one spot on the side of his neck he knows makes him squirm.

“Dean.” Cas says his name like a moan but it carries a hint of warning and Dean can barely keep himself from grinning.

He moves his lips to Cas’s ear. “You look good in a tux, Cas.”

“We just got me dressed, don’t you dare start anything that would force me to _undress_.” Cas hisses and he’s holding Dean’s wrists with a grip that might possibly leave bruises.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean turns Cas’s face so he can get at his mouth. It’s not the cleanest of kisses, but it’s more than enough to satisfy the craving he’s had since the goddamn pool incident the other day. Because that was a goddamn _incident_ no matter what anyone says. That’s the only explanation for why Cas dropped trou right in front of Dean while still denying him a good look at what he’s packing.

Dean spreads a hand out over Cas’s stomach and speaks against his cheek. “There are plenty of ways to have fun without you getting undressed and without leaving a mess.”

This is pushing their boundaries. Like, _really_ pushing it. There are worlds of difference between being naked in the same room (not mentioning that backs were turned) and full on touching the _bathing suit areas_. Especially when Sam could come back at any time to get ready himself and then they’ll be out the door and on their way to the job. Which means untold hours of sexual frustration while Cas walks around in a tux and who knows how civilians at the Big Ball are going to react to him. Dean just might explode if anyone even so much as _thinks_ about getting Cas to dance with them

Cas shifts against him, and Dean grins at the pout reflected back at him in the mirror. “Coming in my pants is considered leaving a mess.”

“Too bad pants don’t come with this handy thing called a zipper – oh _wait_.” Dean raises an eyebrow in response and enjoys the ‘oh’ face Cas makes as it dawns on him just what Dean might be hinting at.

He watches as Cas uses the mirror to eye the door. His cheeks are getting steadily more red and it’s really flattering to know he can turn Cas’s crank with a few kisses and helpful hints. Dean will have to keep that in mind for future instances like this. Preferably when they’re alone. In his (their?) room at the bunker. Where they won’t be interrupted by anything.

Cas pulls away and goes to his trench coat tossed over the back of one of the chairs by the table in the kitchenette. Dean pouts at Cas’s back while he starts going through the pockets. That really wasn’t the reaction that he was hoping for – but maybe Cas just isn’t ready for it yet? Either way, he might as well start getting ready himself if that’s the way this game is going to be played, for now.

Dean’s just starting to unzip the bag his tux is hanging in when Cas grabs his arm. “Not yet.”

He has all of two seconds to be confused before Cas drags him back in front of the mirror and makes them stand exactly the same way they were before. Cas even puts Dean’s hands back over his stomach.

“Sam isn’t going to back for another twenty minutes at least.” Cas stares him down in the mirror. He’s blushing, but he’s got that set to his jaw that means he’s determined. “Show me how we’d do this without a mess.”

 _Oh_.

Dean doesn’t waste time with words. He’s not going to ask if Cas is really ready for this, or why he wants to do it in front of the mirror. Cas wouldn’t have asked him to do this if he hadn’t made up his mind about it already. And the mirror thing – well – It’s not the first time Dean’s done something in front of one. Maybe Cas is just testing his boundaries, finding what he likes and what he doesn’t. Dean is all for that.

He starts with rubbing the heel of his palm over the growing bulge in the front of Cas’s pants. Cas holds onto his wrists again and he’s watching Dean’s hands in the mirror or he glances down. His fingers are shaking and he’s breathing hard, mouth open and every so often he licks his lips and Dean would _really_ like to turn him around and get his mouth on Cas’s, get that unique Cas-taste and push Cas up against the mirror, get Cas’s leg up around his hip and –

And he’ll save those thoughts for later.

Cas fumbles Dean’s hand out of the way and unzips himself. Dean sneaks his fingers in the moment Cas pulls his hand back. He worms his touch in through the front of Cas’s boxers and the moment he touches skin, Cas sucks in a sharp breath and muffles a ‘hnnn’ sound in the back of his throat. It’s a noise Dean likes to hear and he wants to hear it more.

He does.

The sounds stop being muffled right around the time he gets a good grip and starts stroking, thumb swiping over the head to spread the precome. Cas sags back against him and Dean can’t look away from the sight in the mirror. It’s hypnotizing how Cas keeps rocking into his fist, how his teeth dig into his bottom lip. He’s uncomfortable in his jeans, but he’s not going to take care of himself until he’s sure of what Cas is okay with.

“Dean –!” Cas gasps, head tilting back when Dean pulls out all the stops – rubbing his thumb just under the head, twisting his wrist on the up stroke, trying out every little thing that works for him, including pressing the edge of his nail into the slit.

He slips off his flannel and uses that to keep the tux clean when Cas comes, his whole body locking up. Dean tosses the shirt toward his dirty clothes bag and carefully tucks Cas back into his pants, even zipping him up once he’s done. He doesn’t move until Cas does, until he takes a deep breath and turns in Dean’s arms. Cas leans in to kiss him slow and sweet. Dean doesn’t even realize he’s being backed up toward the bed until the mattress edge is pressing into the back of his knees and his world goes from vertical to horizontal.

Cas’s climbs on top of him and starts working at Dean’s belt buckle, mouth fixed under his jaw. “We still have ten minutes.”


	18. Dancing

Dean is a big boy. He’s a modern man, not a cave man. And it’s not like he doesn’t have his own share of ladies – and the odd dude – asking to take him out on the dance floor. He’s refused every single one of them because he’s on a _job_ and when you’re on a job you’re not supposed to have fun, you’re supposed to stay at your goddamn post and keep an eye out for demons. You’re not supposed to be eyeing up your someone- _special_ from across a crowded dance hall and thinking about how they’d been sucking at your ear while they’d been giving you a surprisingly skilled hand-job. And you’re definitely not supposed to be wondering _why_ they were better than expected at that particular trick.

What you’re supposed to be doing is the job. Like earlier when he and Cas had distracted the DJ long enough for Sam to get at his laptop and install some small program that says ‘Christo’ under the music – loud enough that a demon would hear it, but not loud enough for anyone to notice. They can’t do much of anything when the DJ turns off for a while to let the band play the boring music to sound more ‘authentic’ for some of the dances.

Now Sam has a drink and he’s chatting up the old ladies – seriously, he’s like catnip to the geriatric crowd – in one corner of the dance floor. Cas is _supposed_ to be stationed near the entrance. He’s _supposed_ to be playing the role of the loner forced into attending by a social butterfly friend who abandoned him the moment they got to the party.

He’s _supposed_ to be – to be – he’s _not_ supposed to be caught in the middle of a gaggle of young ladies. The most ballsy of the group are actually tugging at Cas’s arms and trying to pull him closer to the dance floor and no matter how many times Cas shakes his head and says ‘no thank you’, they don’t stop.

It’s annoyed Dean enough that he’s already pounded back four shots of whiskey – all doubles. And all on an empty stomach. It would normally take more than that to make him fuzzy headed, but he’s had those on top of a good few beers. He’s not really supposed to drink on the job, but the moment he saw the girls go for Cas he’d turned around and made the order.

And if Sam complains, Dean’ll just point out that they never should have put _him_ at the bar.

He doesn’t move from his post until he sees a _guy_ worm his way into the group of fangirls and put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. Dean is halfway across the ballroom when Cas looks at the guy then down at his hand. He stops to watch and he grins because _that_ is the I-will-smite-you look. The guy backs off pretty quickly and as soon as he’s out of the way, Cas looks up and Dean immediately feels stupid.

No. He feels like the jealous _boyfriend_.

But Cas smiles, nods at the people around him, and brushes past them. He leaves his drink on the tray of a passing waiter and Dean honestly can’t move. It’s like he’s rooted to the spot and he waits there almost right in the middle of the dance floor until Cas gets over.

“If you’re thinking I’m going to dance, you’re more drunk than I am.” Dean hates the words before they’re even all out of his mouth.

Cas only smiles again, all in the eyes and barely on the lips. He tilts his head and holds his hand out. Dean stares at it for almost a full minute before he caves and takes it. Cas steps closer and puts his hand on Dean’s hip, forcing him to put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. He may not be formally trained in any form of dance, but Dean’s seen enough movies to know that he’s been shunted into the lady’s roll.

“You’re welcome to take the lead if you’re confident that you’ll be able to waltz without stepping on my toes or bump into the other dancers.” Cas murmurs, stepping even closer until their chests are practically touching.

The song changes and Dean does stumble a bit through the first few steps until he catches up the rhythm. “How the hell do you know how to dance?”

“Practice.”

“When did you learn?”

“What do you think I was doing with the laptop in the backseat half the way here.” Cas tilts his head again and his amusement is annoying Dean _a lot_. “As soon as I found out we were attending a small town’s equivalent to a Ball, I downloaded dance instruction videos. I watched them and practiced the steps.”

Dean frowns, trying to remember when Cas would have time to practice. He opens his mouth to ask the question, but Cas beats him to the punch.

“While you were out getting food or doing research.”

“Sam knew?”

“I practiced with Sam. He has experience.”

That feeling of jealous rears its ugly head again and Dean’s frown gets deeper. “Why’d you dance with _him_? You could’ve asked me to practice with you.”

“You would have made fun of me.”

“No, I wouldn’t’ve.” The frown is getting dangerously close to a pout.

“Yes, you would have. And you would have refused to practice with me on the grounds of knowing how to waltz is too _girly_.”

Dean pulls Cas in closer in a movement sharp enough to make him stumble. He dips his head so he’s holding Cas’s eyes in the most serious way he knows how. “No.” He says the word low and hard enough that he’ll understand that Dean isn’t joking around. “I wouldn’t have. If it’s something you really want to do, Cas, if it’s something important to _you,_ then I’m not going to laugh or tease. You should have asked me and I would have practiced with you.”

Cas looks a little stunned. It’s nice to know that after knowing each other for roughly eight years, Dean can still surprise him. They’ve gone through the Apocalypse, a half dozen deaths between them, and Purgatory and Cas still doesn’t know all the parts of him. Which is good. He wouldn’t want him to get bored after all.

Dean plans on keeping Cas around for a _very_ long time.


	19. In Battle Side By Side

If Abaddon had a part in this ring of demons, she doesn’t show her face. None of these demons they interrupt in a fancy room above the ball seem only to know them by reputation. At first glance, Castiel counts a dozen demons. They’re attempting to summon someone big and bad, someone who could be on par with a knight of hell. A name never came up in all their research, but three extremely bloody (and sickly perverted) virgin sacrifices were required on the last full moons and the unconscious person bound to a table on the other side of the room is supposed to be another virgin, waiting to be the meat suit for whichever demon gets summoned.

Castiel’s first shot is with his pistol and it’s aimed at the massive candle sitting in the center of the summoning circle painted in the middle of the floor. Sam stays just outside the door, standing in a hastily drawn devil’s trap (sprayed before Dean and Castiel broke the door down) to protect him from the demons’ powers while he chants the exorcisms spell.

Dean has the demon knife in one hand and he’s cutting and stabbing without hesitation. Only six of them break away from the circle to deal with them and the others are twitching and convulsing, arms raised above their heads and their gowns and suits painted in blood. There are two bodies, bloody and broken on a couch, their throats slit.

Taking out the candle makes it harder for the summoned demon to come to this plane, but it’s still possible. All Castiel did is buy them some time.

Castiel doesn’t move from the door until he’s out of salt packed shotgun shells. It keeps the moving demons back and down long enough for Dean to get at them with the knife. When he’s out of ammo, Castiel drops the shot gun and goes straight into the thick of things with a canteen of holy water from his back pocket and a few choice Enochian words that make the demons flinch away before they realize there’s no power behind them anymore.

He left his suit jacket outside and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The punches have little effect – something he tries hard not to notice. Castiel used to be able to do more. He fights the cloud of those dark thoughts to keep them from weighing on his mind as hard as he fights the demons.

Because Dean has the knife, he’s the one in charge of getting the demons. Castiel was charged as back up while trying to destroy the summoning. Both their jobs are purely as distraction until Sam is done the exorcism. Of course they both get tossed around more than once and by the time the exorcism works, they’re both bruised and Castiel has a split bottom lip. Dean’s nose is bleeding and neither one of them is looking forward to having to clean up the mess. They hope the music downstairs was enough to hide the gunshots and the sounds of the fight, but they’re not sure and they can’t take any chances.

Sam is still complaining about the people who are going to get tried for murder who are innocent and Castiel agrees with him, but there’s nothing they can do. Trying to get all the bodies out without being seen would be nearly impossible. Dean tells them both to suck it up and forget about it as they all pile into the impala.

It’s a unanimous decision that they clear out from the motel immediately and drive through the night – even if they’re tired. Sam drives to the motel and away from it. Dean sits in the backseat with Castiel and leans heavily against Castiel’s shoulder. He’s not sure if Dean actually sleeps on the way back to the motel, but it’s not like he’s going to complain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we tell battle scenes aren't my strong suit? ~~Or that I'm dead on my feet?~~


	20. Bathing Together

Any patching up they do is in the car on the way home. Dean disinfects Castiel’s lip and any little cuts or scrapes he got while they’re sitting in the backseat. The little stings of pain are enough to keep Castiel not only awake, but they also stop his thoughts from drifting to the one thing he really hasn’t stopped thinking about since it happened.

“One of these days, we really should teach you how to drive.” Sam says over his shoulder.

Dean frowns down at Castiel’s knuckles as he dabs at them with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant. “Find him a junker he can practice on and we’ll get right on that. You need _at least_ five hundred hours of experience before I let you behind the wheel of my baby.”

“That seems a bit excessive. I would have to drive for twenty-one days straight to get that.”

Sam snorts and laughs. “He’s being overprotective, ignore him.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Of me or the car?”

Dean squeezes his hand and glares at him from under his eyebrows. It’s a chilling look and Castiel isn’t sure if he should take it to mean “You, you dumbass.” Or “Both.” Or “Don’t ask stupid questions.” It was so much easier to understand Dean when he could see the twisting changes of his soul. Dean feels so deeply and he doesn’t always express it in ways that Castiel knows. It doesn’t help that Castiel’s people skills are still a little rusty.

Once he’s taken care of, Castiel starts cleaning Dean’s wounds. Dean has absolutely no problems falling asleep during that and Castiel frowns at his snores while he tapes gauze over a nasty scrape on his elbow. When he’s packing up the first-aid kit to store it under the seat, Sam tells him he can nap too and he’ll wake Dean for a driver change in a few hours.

Castiel deliberates for a few moments how he’s going to sleep in the backseat. Dean’s taking up at least half of it, his back wedged into a corner and his body angled out toward the center of the car, legs spread. It’s not much different from how he’d been laying on the bed earlier and that makes Castiel’s decision for him.

Sam makes an annoyed huffing noise, and Dean grunts – eyes opening long enough to take in what’s happening before he lifts his arm to make room for Castiel against his side. He wiggles his arms around Dean’s waist and tucks his head under his chin. Dean mumbles something about how if he wakes up and there’s pictures of this, he’s going to put Nair in Sam’s shampoo again.

By the time they get back to the bunker it’s sunset of the next day and everyone feels gross. After a round of rock paper scissors to determine the shower line up, Sam goes in first while Dean and Castiel empty the impala.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks to let me shower before you.” Dean shoulders Sam’s bag with his own before slamming the trunk.

Castiel has his bag and the duffle full of the weapons that need to be cleaned. “I have no need or want for your money.” He heads to the laundry room and Dean tags along behind him.

“Dude, you take forever to shower. I’m going to washing up in an artic run off.” Dean whines, bumping into Castiel purposefully at the door. “Don’t make me freeze my nuts off. Please?”

He dumps his clothes out on the floor from his bag and starts sorting them. Dean does the same and he continues to pester Castiel to trade. The whining, begging and bribing doesn’t stop all the way to Castiel’s room where he prepares a change of clothes and his bathroom bag. He even goes so far as to lean against Castiel’s back, arms around his waist and his mouth on a specific spot on his neck.

“I’ll be in and out before you know it.” Dean murmurs against his ear. “Promise.”

Castiel sighs and turns around to face him and Dean doesn’t move. “I’m not trading.” He holds up his hand to cut off the coming whine. “But I am willing to let you shower _with_ me.”

Dean lips part in a small ‘o’ and he blinks more times than is likely necessary. It’s not the first time that Castiel has offered to do this, but Dean still looks surprised. He waits while the information processes and his answer is a wide grin and a kiss. They kiss with Castiel’s back against the wall, fingers in hair and curled tightly in shirts. They kiss until Sam’s shout from the hallway announces he’s done his shower and it still takes Dean a good few minutes to break away.

He’s left breathless and uncomfortable in his suit pants not for the first time in two days. Castiel shoves Dean toward the door with the instruction of getting his things too. Pushing him away when they’re both in this state sends that itch clawing under his skin. It’s searing into his head and he can barely think by the time they meet in the bathroom again.

As soon as the door is shut and locked, Castiel is on him. In contrast to their rushed hands, the kisses are soft, almost gentle. They’re still stumbling out of their pants by the time they get across the bathroom to the tub. The kissing and touching stops for the time it takes to pull the shower curtain out of the way and turning the water on to the right heat.

Castiel removes his underpants – taking note of the muffled noise Dean makes when he does it – and steps into the tub the first. The hot water isn’t nearly enough of a distraction to keep Castiel from turning around and quite obviously watching Dean remove his final piece of clothing. Dean grumbles as he kicks off his shorts and steps in too. Castiel closes the curtain and pulls Dean to him.

The kisses are slick with the shower water and Dean’s skin feels different under his hands when it’s slippery. Dean’s hands only trace down his back before they settle on his ass and stay there. Castiel is far more liberal with his touches – touching as much of Dean as he can before he does anything like that.

“Y’know –” Dean mumbles against his lips, stepping forward while pulling Castiel closer – close enough that their hips are pressed together and it feels like Castiel’s whole body short circuits. He almost misses the rest of Dean’s words. “I thought you were still a virgin.”

“I am.” He responds, experimentally rolling his hips and marveling at just how _different_ it feels move against Dean without the barrier of clothing.

Dean leans back just enough to squint at him through the spray of the shower. “Then how the heck were you so –”

“I’ve been human for _months_ , Dean.” Castiel takes the moment to step away and reach through the curtain for his bathroom bag on the floor. “I’ve been subject to human urges that whole time and you insist on walking around in your boxers. I’m sure you can do the math.” He finds the small bottle he was looking for and Dean nearly drops it when he tosses it to him.

“Is this why your showers are so long?” Dean wiggles the bottle of lube at him.

Castiel shrugs and gets his soap and shampoo too. “I do enjoy the hot water.”

“And how exactly do you think we’re going to use this?” He keeps wiggling the bottle and Castiel takes it from him, putting it on the shelf hanging from under the shower head with the rest of his things.

Dean steps into place behind him, slinging his arms around Castiel’s waist and spreading his fingers on his stomach. His chin rests on Castiel’s shoulder and he brushes kisses along his neck every few breaths. Castiel is well aware that Dean’s chest may be pressed against his back, but his hips are angled away. He tilts his head to one side to give Dean more room.

He’s seen enough _videos_ on the laptop in the middle of the nights he can’t sleep to know why Dean isn’t standing against him completely like he would if he was fully clothed. Castiel isn’t going to say anything on it because maybe that means Dean isn’t ready for something like that.

“We can use it for whatever you want.” He murmurs, reaching up to run his hands through Dean’s wet hair. “Whatever you’re ready for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel turns around, his hands finding Dean’s hips. “We can use it in whatever way you’re ready for.”

“Shouldn’t that be what _you’re_ ready for?” Dean’s confusion makes his forehead crinkle. “You’re the virgin here.”

He sighs and leans up the few inches between them to kiss him lightly. “I may be a virgin, but I’m not _naïve_. Not anymore. You taught me to use the internet and I have _used the internet_.” Castiel continues kissing him around the words, amused by how his jaw goes slack and his eyes wide. “Since I decided that I was ready, I’ve been thinking of every way that I want you.” Dean’s fingers spasm around Castiel’s upper arms and there’s a quiet gasp. “I even have a list if you’d like to see it.”

Dean laughs and it breaks whatever tension had settled in his body. Castiel smiles into the kisses and follows Dean’s lead through the rest of the shower. They wash their hair separately, but clean each other’s bodies with soapy hands. The water is starting to cool off by the time Dean presses the bottle of lube into Castiel’s hand and guides him to wrap slick fingers around their long neglected erections.

The slide of their dicks together in his fist is – Castiel can never seem to find the right words to explain it. But the lightning in his bones, the shaking of his muscles as he pushes Dean against the cool tiles (amused by his complaints around the kisses) as he rocks against him – all this he knows. He feels it every time he’s with Dean.

Like this, Dean satisfies his body. And as much as Castiel likes this, as much as he likes the burning in his belly and how his body tenses with pleasure, it’s still only a fraction of how Dean satisfies him. There’s more to Castiel than just his body – the part of him that used to be Grace – is more than enough. That part of him is calmed, gratified, by every other moment they spend together.

The moments like laughter in the kitchen, the shouting at the TV in the rec room, the firm orders while out on jobs. The gentle touches, the warm kisses, the open arms and the comfortable silences between them even when there was so many difficult moments between them in the past. Dean gives him peace. 


	21. Baking

It’s the crash and the loud swearing that gets Dean out of bed. Sam’s laughter is the only thing that has him getting his housecoat instead of the gun before he leaves the bedroom. Halfway down the hall he realizes that the swearing was Cas and that’s pretty fucking surreal. Cas does swear, but it happens about as often as them coming out of a job completely unscathed.

The swearing is as surreal as what he finds in the kitchen when he gets there.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

Sam is sitting on a counter. He’s got his hair tied back – and one of these days Dean is going to tie him down and shave that mop – and he’s drumming his heels against the cupboards like a seven year old kid. Even the lunatic grinning isn’t as weird as what’s going on in the middle of the kitchen.

Cas is in his bunny slippers, plaid pajama pants that look like they belong on a Scotsman, and an undershirt. But they’re almost all hidden under the most ridiculous apron Dean owns. The one that Charlie gag gifted to him after she learned he did most of the cooking back before Cas moved it. The one that Dean has hidden at the back of the pantry.

Only two other people know it exists there. One of them is grinning at him like the cat that caught the canary.

The apron is one of those full frontal ones that hangs around the neck  with ties at the waist that you wrap around your back and tie in a bow. It’s a hideous shade of pink, lined with lace, and has ‘KISS THE COOK’ bedazzled across the chest. Charlie actually _made_ it. She said she picked absolutely the most garish things she could think of knowing Dean would never throw it away because she gave it to him, knowing he wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

Cas, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care. He _does_ seem to care about how from the waist down he’s covered in white and there’s a bag of flour and overturned bowl at his feet. He’s grumbling in different languages and trying to smack the flour from the front of the apron.

“Is _anyone_ going to answer me?” Dean takes a step into the kitchen.

“No.” Cas turns around and points a finger at him. “Get out.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“It’s a _surprise_.” Sam is almost on the verge of cackling and it’s really messing with Dean’s calm center because Sam hasn’t looked this deliriously amused in ages.

Cas gives Sam some kind of warning look and Sam laughs his way through not saying anything else. Dean ignores them both and keeps going. He gets the broom and dust pan and Cas glares at him when he brings it over.

“I’m already up, I’m already here, I already know you’re making something and judging by the pan on the counter, you’re trying to make a pie.” Dean holds the broom out and wiggles it until Cas takes it. “Neither of you dumbasses knows how to make one so shut up, clean up, and let me help after I go take a piss and wash up.”

The moment Cas takes the broom, Dean grabs his wrist and pulls him forward as he steps in. It’s a quick, closed mouth kiss that has Cas looking confused and Sam crinkling his nose at the PDA. Dean just shrugs and taps the bedazzled chest before shuffling out of the kitchen with his own little grin.

There’s something warm curled in his chest and Dean likes it. He likes knowing Cas wanted to surprise him with a pie. He likes knowing that Cas is _here_ , even when he’s not always in the bed when Dean wakes up. He likes this feeling and it makes it so easy to forget all the shit that happened between them before _this_.


	22. Arguing

Later, when Sam asks him, Dean can’t even tell him how it started. But it’s the first actual screaming match he’s ever had with anyone. Dean has had fights before. He’s thrown punches, gotten up in someone’s face when he’s angry, raised his voice, but he’s never stood on opposite sides of a table and fucking _screamed_ at someone.

And the last time he ever had Cas honest to God _yell_ at him like that was in an alley. Back then there were fists involved with the power of heaven behind them and those had _hurt_. It may or may not have been why Dean had kept the table between them during this particular fight. It may not have been physical, but it was – undoubtedly – verbal.

In the two hours that Dean shouted at Cas, every little thing that he’s been bottling up about their past came out. Starting with the ditching him for a whole year and not telling him that Sam was back, and ending with going off to help Metatron. The whole thing could be boiled down to _Cas not trusting him_.

Cas insists that he does – always did, always will. But he didn’t apologize. He didn’t even give any decent kind of explanation for _why_ he did anything that he did. And that’s what Dean wants. He wants to know _why_. He wants to know _why_ Cas doesn’t – didn’t – trust him.

The fight happens on a Sunday night. After some marathon playing on TV that Dean doesn’t even remember anymore. What he _does_ remember is that it ended with the preview for the new Man of Steel movie and Sam stopped to explain to Cas that _that_ was Superman.

Oh, right, he remembers how the fight got started now.

He hasn’t seen Cas since Dean had thrown a book across the room (nowhere near where Cas was standing) and stormed out. Whether Cas left or he’s locked in his room, Dean doesn’t know. He does, sort of, care. It has been nearly five days and Cas hasn’t once showed his face. Sometimes Dean sees Sam texting and he wonders if it’s Cas, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s still pissed so Cas probably is too.

Just because he’s slept like shit the last few nights and he catches himself reaching for his phone more than once doesn’t mean anything. And neither does the extra plate he puts out for dinner and wraps up when no one comes to eat but he still finds the empty plate in the drying rack next to the sink in the morning. But breakfast remains uncooked until either Sam or Dean wakes up and the hot water always lasts for Dean’s whole shower.

It’s been barely five days and Dean fucking _misses_ him. He’s had Cas with him every day for months and now there’s this great big _hole_ sitting in the middle of his chest. It never felt this bad when Cas would bamf in and out of his life before – at least not outside of Purgatory. But he hadn’t been – _they_ hadn’t been – Now isn’t the same as then. And Dean is so out of his  depth that he doesn’t know what to do.

Sam barges into his room halfway through the fifth day to give him that answer.

“Go and _talk_ to him.”

Dean doesn’t even bother rolling over. He much prefers laying face down on his bed, conspicuously avoiding putting any limbs over onto the side that is sorta-officially Cas’s side. He’s not going to go talk to Cas until Cas apologizes, until Cas answers the _why_.

“Goddammit, Dean.” Sam pulls at his foot and Dean kicks at him to make him go away. “You are not chasing away the best thing that’s happened to you in years. Get off your ass and go make up with Cas.”

He kicks Sam’s hand away and, yeah, Dean is being a stubborn ass. But he’s not the one in the wrong here. Cas is the one who fucked up – on more than one occasion, thank you very much. Cas is the one who betrayed him, who doesn’t trust him, who never fucking gave a reason for anything except “I have to do this” and that doesn’t explain a goddamn thing.

No. Dean isn’t going to cave. He’s not going to go crawling back to Cas. He’s already told Cas – more than once, even – that he needs him. Cas hasn’t said it once. Cas has called him family, said that they’re like brothers – but that was long before they started being anything like they are (were?) now.

Sam starts ranting at him, starts telling him how Cas is suffering too. He goes off on how Dean needs to be a grown up for once in his life because Cas used to be a fucking _angel_ and has patience enough for both of them. Dean tries blocking him out by pulling a pillow over his head and pinning it down around his ears.

The whole time he tries not to think about how much he really wants to do what Sam is telling him to do. 


	23. Making Up Afterward

The constant text messages from Sam are not going to sway him. They should, but they’re not going to. Castiel knows that he should apologize, he knows – after Dean shouted it at least a dozen times – that Dean just wants to know _why_. But Dean had said some hurtful things too, a lot of it concerning Castiel’s mental acuity.

The insults stung almost as much as the truth that Castiel has, on several occasions, betrayed Dean. There are too many times that Dean told him not to do something, begged him not to, and he did it because he thought it was right, thought it was what needed to be done. Clearly, those were poor decisions and they all hurt Dean more than Castiel ever wanted to.

His phone beeps again.

> _The kids cry when dad and dad fight._

Castiel frowns and tosses the phone to the end of his bed. He’s going to have to speak to Sam later about how it is not appropriate to tell Charlie about a private fight. Even though it was loud enough that if they had neighbours they would have likely heard everything.

As soon as Dean had scoffed and muttered about kryptonite and Castiel had pressed him to explain why he was frowning, Sam had cleared out of the room before the – as the term goes – “shit hit the fan”. Castiel actually hasn’t seen him since. They’ve only been communicating through text messages since the morning after when Sam contacted him to find out if he was doing okay.

After three days of near sleepless nights and this odd, kind of hollow feeling in his chest, Castiel is ready to apologize. He wants to tell Dean all the reasons why, wants to try and make him _understand_ , but he doesn’t know how. Castiel just doesn’t know what to say or how to do it. He’s not sure if he’s going to be able to say it to Dean’s face without remembering just how _angry_ Dean is about all this. It’s been festering in Dean for months – _years –_ and Castiel can’t take this anymore.

If this empty feeling isn’t enough to make him want to apologize, than it would definitely be the itch. By day four, Castiel feels like he’s going to go insane. He is almost constantly pacing, back and forth across his room and he can’t stop thinking about what Dean is doing, if he’s still angry, if he misses him too, if he’s as affected by this fight as Castiel is.

On day five it reaches a nearly unbearable level and more than once Castiel catches himself with his hand on his bedroom door, ready to go out and talk to Dean without knowing where to start. He wants to talk to Dean, he wants to see him and he doesn’t want to lose everything that they had.

Castiel can’t go back to being just family with Dean. He’s not even sure if he could go back to being just friends. Dean is _more_ now. More than Castiel ever though he would – could – have with Dean. He’s addicted now. He could probably go without the sexual aspect to their relationship, but he can’t go without the comfort and the _peace_ that being with Dean gives him.

He _needs_ Dean.

By the end of day five, Castiel texts Sam.

> _How?_

Sam emails him a list of all the different ways he could apologize. “Go _talk_ to him” is written every three points. If Sam could guarantee that Dean won’t interrupt, that Dean won’t start yelling again, than Castiel would. He picks option number three and sits down to write a letter. It’s more personal than sending an email, and Castiel writes faster than he types.

He starts with why he didn’t come back during the year Dean lived with Lisa. Castiel explains how he planned to come back and visit, but then the war with Raphael had escalated so quickly to a point where Castiel couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk visiting Dean and dragging him back into a world Dean had left for the closest thing he would probably ever get to peace.

The first few pages of the letter detail that Dean would never have been able to help with a war in heaven, especially when Raphael would have just used Dean against him. He writes about the day he went to Dean and ended up leaving with Crowley, he writes why he made every choice that he did and how everything boils down to wanting to save his family. He would do anything for his family the same as Dean would do anything for Sam.

By the end of the letter, he’s touched on every moment that Dean mentioned Sunday night. The pages are double sided and there are nearly a dozen sheets. His hand and wrist are sore by the time he’s done and he ends the letter hoping that Dean can forgive him for his poor judgment.

The last line, right above his name, is five words.

> _Because I need you too._

Castiel folds the letter as best he can but it still barely fits the envelope he puts it in. Once it’s ready, it’s well into the night and Castiel moves as quietly as he can down the hall to put it under Dean’s door. The lights are off and there’s no sounds inside – Castiel stops and listens first to know. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

According to Sam’s email, leaving a letter under the door is a terrible cliché. He doesn’t care. Castiel just hopes that it’ll get the job done. Now all he has to do is _wait_. There’s little more than sixty minutes of that before there’s a knock at his door and Castiel’s heart somehow manages to relocate from his chest to his throat before he’s even out of the bed.

For the first time in a long time, Castiel is _scared_.


	24. Gazing Into Each Others' Eyes

Dean barely even waits for the door to be opened. Castiel staggers back as he forces his way into the room and kicks the door shut behind himself. In the light from his bedside lamp, Castiel can see the hard set to Dean’s jaw. He looks tired – _exhausted_. Castiel registers the click of the lock and he doesn’t step back when Dean steps forward. It’s time for him to stand his ground.

“I take it you got my letter.” Castiel gestures at the paper Dean has in his hand.

“Yeah, I did.” Dean shoves the paper against Castiel’s chest hard enough to force him back a step. “I don’t want to hear it from a piece of paper. I want to hear it from _you_.”

He frowns down at the paper. It’s only one of the near dozen that he had written, but Dean only brought the last one. “I don’t understand. If you already read the letter, why do you want me to reread the whole thing to you?”

“Not the whole thing.” Dean flicks at the paper and steps in close again. “I want you to say it.”

Castiel glances over the words covering the last page, looking for what Dean could possibly – _oh_. He sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes what it is. The page flutters to the floor and Castiel looks up to meet Dean’s eyes. As little as a year ago, he would have been able to see Dean’s soul reflected back at him.

Now all he sees is _Dean_. Not the light of the soul of the righteous man, but the light of the lamp and the green-gold-brown. He can read emotions in them by the slope of his eyebrows or the tightening of the skin around his eyes. It’s harder, and less accurate than what he would read from his soul. This feels more intimate – because Castiel sees no more in Dean than Dean can see in him.

Hidden behind the exhaustion, there’s _hope_. There’s a softness in the lines around his eyes and there’s another emotion there that Castiel has seen in him for longer than he’s known what to name it. He thinks he knows what it is now and it makes him feel warm inside and out. Just seeing it in Dean’s eyes eases the itch until he doesn’t feel it at all – and they’re not even touching one another.

Castiel rectifies that immediately, sliding his hands around Dean’s waist. He leans into him and Dean put his arms around Castiel’s shoulders. Their foreheads bump and Castiel wants to tilt his chin up enough to kiss him, to taste him. He hasn’t done that for nearly a week and he would very much like to do it again. He is an addict to Dean’s taste and touch after all.

He does it anyway so every syllable brushes their lips together. “I need you too, Dean.”

Dean kisses him fully. It starts gentle and Castiel’s fingers curl tightly into the back of Dean’s ragged t-shirt, but they don’t stay there long. Before he knows how or why, Dean is dragging Castiel’s shirt over his head and they’re both shirtless, stumbling over their clothing as their feet tangle in their pants. Castiel staggers backward, pulling Dean after him until they can tumble together into his bed.

It’s the first time they’ve been in his room together, let alone his bed, and it doesn’t faze either of them. Getting under the covers is a fumbling, rushed affair and Castiel rolls over Dean, pinning him with kisses as he grinds down with his hips. Dean’s hands never hold still, travelling from Castiel’s hair and down his back to grab his ass and hold him in place as they rock against each other.

There’s so much skin and heat, but too much friction. Castiel fumbles for the bedside table without pulling his mouth from Dean’s throat. He knows exactly what he wants. He wants _Dean_. All of him in whatever ways he’ll be allowed.

“I need you.” He mutters again into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. “I should have said that a long time ago. I need you, Dean. I’m –”

Dean makes a noise to cut him off. “I get it, Cas – I know. Just –” He pushes at Castiel’s shoulders, forcing him back onto his elbows. “What do you want to do now?”

Castiel finally gets the bottle of lube in hand. “Anything. Everything.” He leans in to kiss Dean gently, slowly. “Whatever you’re willing to do.”

A grin forms under his lips and Dean’s hands squeeze where they rest over Castiel’s ass. “Want to take a crack at your list?”


	25. Sick

Dean should’ve known that green lighting the first item on Cas’s list would have led to this. Now whenever they have a chance alone between jobs, chores, research, and chasing hints of Abaddon from one side of the country to the other, Cas wants to do item number one as often as they’re able. The kissing never goes away, but grinding is now just a brief prelude to someone going to their knees.

He’s not complaining about blowjobs. Hell no, he isn’t. By the second week, Cas got _really_ good at them. It’s like he memorizes every little thing Dean likes and spends his spare time coming up with different ways of putting that knowledge to use to make Dean go weak in the knees. So no, it’s definitely not that that he’s complaining about.

What’s got his boxers in a twist is that Cas has spent _months_ getting him used to at least having a kiss by his first coffee of the day. Now it’s supper time and Cas’s plate is going cold on the dining table. Dean woke up alone and breakfast was a plate of pancakes that he had to reheat because they were cold. Cas didn’t wake him or Sam when breakfast was ready. And he didn’t show up for lunch either.

Sam says he saw him duck into the bathroom when he was on his way to the kitchen this morning, but that’s the only time Cas has been seen _all day_. The one time that Dean went and knocked on his bedroom door, he got a text message two seconds later with three words.

> _busy go away_

It’s the serious lack of punctuation and capitalization that tipped Dean to things not being entirely kosher. The only thing he doesn’t know is _what_ is actually wrong with Cas. Any of his or Sam’s texts have gone unanswered since.

All this boils down to Dean having spent the last twelve hours being intensely paranoid that somehow he fucked something up. It’s not like either of them have done anything weird or new lately and – oh. Maybe that’s it? What if this is Cas’s way of saying that he wants to try other things from his list? No, Cas is more frank that that. If he wanted to try new things and if he thought that Dean was ready for them – which he is – Cas would have said something by now.

“So you’re _sure_ you two aren’t fighting again?”

Dean barely resists throwing the box of plastic wrap at Sam’s great big floppy head. He’s pretty sure they’re not fighting. Cas was happy as anyone can get in a post-orgasmic glow last night. On a side note, he hasn’t had so much sex without having actual _sex_ in pretty much ever. He’s satisfied, Cas is satisfied – to the best of his knowledge. So _why_ is Cas going hermit crab on them now?

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

“I meant, have you kicked the door down?”

“Bedrooms are sacred, Sam. You don’t go in someone’s bedroom without their permission first.” Dean gestures with Cas’s wrapped plate, debating whether to try and take it to Cas in his room or just leave it in the fridge like he did during that week they _were_ fighting.

Fuck it.

He gets the same text less than a minute after knocking. Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket and bangs on the door again. “Cas! Get your ass out here and eat your supper!” His phone beeps in his pocket and he ignores it. “If you’re gonna talk to me, you’re gonna use your goddamn voice. Open up, Cas!”

The phone goes on a beeping spree and Dean pulls it out just to silence the infernal thing.

>   _busy go away_
> 
> _not hungry_
> 
> _stop shouting_
> 
> _it makes my head hurt_
> 
> _i can’t_

“You can’t _what_?”

> _talk_

Hold the fucking phone. “Cas, are you _sick_?”

> _no go away_

Fuck the sacred rule. Dean throws the door open and hits the light switch. There's a pained hiss from the bed and the pile of blankets where Cas must be hiding shifts. He leaves the plate of food on the desk and crosses to the bed. There’s another hissing noise when he pulls the blankets back.

Cas looks like hell. His hair is worse than usual, he’s pale and sweaty and Dean is willing to bet good money that he’s buck ass naked too. Dean puts a hand on his forehead and bats away Cas’s hand when he tries to push him away. He’s burning up.

“Jesus, Cas, what the hell are you doing under all these blankets. You’re supposed to keep cool when you’ve got a fever.” Dean gets his housecoat from the back of the door. “Get up, you’re going to take a shower. It’s going to feel colder than it is, but it’s not going to be cold. Then you’re going to take some Tylenol and drink your weight in water.”

If the sound that comes out of Cas’s mouth is supposed to be a ‘no’, he’s not really sure what language Cas is speaking in other than ‘pain’.

“You have a sore throat too?”

Cas grimaces and nods. He doesn’t really put up much of a fight while Dean helps him out of the bed, but he’s glaring the whole time and making sniffling noises. Dean directs him to the bathroom and sends Sam on a supplies run to the nearest drugstore for all the shit they're going to need.

A half hour later and Cas is tucked into Dean’s bed where he belongs. His temperature is high, but not dangerously. He’s been force fed three glasses of water to make up for not having anything the whole day, taken a spoonful or two of some Buckley’s (Dean swears he’s going to take pictures of his ‘ick’ face before this cold is over with) and is basking in the wonderful relief of cold, damp cloths laid over his forehead and neck.

“Stubborn jackass.” Dean mumbles, tucking the blanket up to his armpits. “The next time you think you might be getting sick, just tell me. You can trust me with this, y’know?”

The t-word makes Cas flinch and even after the Buckley’s and the soothing honey tea bullshit that Sam had him drink, his throat is still too scratchy to really talk. Instead he mouths something that Dean thinks might be ‘sorry’. Cas fumbles for his phone and Dean stops him.

“It’s okay. I think you were stupid as hell to hide this from me, but I can kinda understand why you did it.” He lifts Cas’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. It’s sappy and something he normally wouldn’t do, but as much as he’d like to kiss Cas now, he won’t do it while he’s still sick. Dean’s already started his own vitamin regiment to fight off anything he might have caught from him yesterday. “If you ever feel a tickle or a sniffle, you don’t ignore it. And when you’re sick, let me take care of you.”

Cas muffles a cough behind his other hand and gives him a small smile. Dean understands. He knows this is the first time Cas has gotten sick – probably from that snot nosed kid he had to watch over when they were hunting that shtriga last week. It’s the first real sign of weakness he’s had since that wendigo tore into his side but that was in the line of duty. That isn’t as big a blow to his fragile, newly human ego as it is to catch a cold from a sick kid.

Dean puts Cas’s hand down on the blankets and pushes his fingers through his hair. “You rest up. I’m going to go make you some tomato rice soup.”

He’s halfway to the kitchen when his phone beeps and he laughs at the words on the screen.

> _extra crackers please_


	26. Getting Married

Sam makes a little hissing noise and shuts his laptop. Dean looks up in time to see him cross his arms over it and prop his chin up on one of his palms, looking at Dean while his face does that creepy trying-not-to-grin-like-an-idiot dance. It starts a cascade failure of this-isn’t-going-to-be-good that begins with his stomach dropping somewhere down to his feet and his heart  making its way up toward his throat.

“What the hell is that look for?” He narrows his eyes across the table and next to him Cas looks up from his newspaper, a red pen in hand for circling potential jobs. There’s a pair of scissors and a stack of coupons next to him and Dean would freak at how frikken _domestic_ it is if it wasn’t saving them a ton of money.

“So you know those couples’ deaths in Minnesota?” Sam asks and he just keeps _grinning_. It’s making Dean really, _really_ nervous. Nothing good ever comes from Sam grinning like that.

Cas flips a few pages of his newspaper and slides it across the table for Dean to see. The article on the page is about newlyweds in St Cloud, Minnesota dying in weird ‘accidents’ within a few weeks of getting married – or returning from their honeymoon. It’s gotten to the point that people are scared of getting married there.

“What about it?”

Sam looks positively _gleeful_. “I think we should go check it out.”

“You think it’s a spiteful spirit or something?”

“Can’t hurt to check it out. It won’t even be a whole day’s drive, Dean.” Sam leans forward, eyebrows raised in just the way that Dean _knows_ the fucker is up to something. “We could be there and back before the weekend’s over if we leave in an hour.”

It’s a viable case, and they haven’t done anything for a few weeks. Not since Cas got sick – which ended up getting Sam sick. So far, Dean’s the only one who dodged whatever weird pneumonia that Cas contracted from the kid on the shtriga case. Cas is all better now and Sam sounds a little scratchy sometimes, but he’s on the mend. They’re both well enough for a case, but that doesn’t explain why Sam is grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” Dean shrugs and folds up the newspaper he’d been looking through. “As soon as you explain why the hell you’re grinning like that.”

“Because according to the internet, nobody has been married there in over a month.”

“I suppose that means nobody has died.” Cas asks as he takes back his paper.

“You’d be right.”

“Then why do you want us to go?”

Sam stands up and tucks his laptop under his arm. “Because people are dying if they get married, Dean. It’s made everyone paranoid beyond reason. A half dozen weddings have already been cancelled because everyone is superstitious that the marriage office at the court house is cursed.”

That's good enough for him. But something else doesn’t occur to Dean until halfway to Minnesota. It pops into his head mid Renegade lyric and Cas actually swears from the backseat when Dean slams on the breaks and swerves onto the side of the road.

“Dean. I hope you have a good explanation for nearly decapitating me with my seat belt.” Cas grumbles from the backseat as he tries to right himself and start rooting around the floor for the book he’d been reading.

“Yeah, I have one. Sam, how the hell are we going to catch a vengeful spirit that only goes after newlyweds when _no one is getting married_?”

And there’s that grin again. Fuck. This is going to be something that Dean doesn’t like. He just _knows_ it.

“Guess we’ll just have to find some people to get married at the court house.” Sam glances up once from his phone where he’s been texting almost nonstop since they left the bunker. “Don’t worry, I’ve got us covered.”

Well, that wasn’t so bad. Dean is still wary, of course. He doesn’t stop being wary all the way to the motel and that worry ddoubles when they pull up and Charlie is waiting for them, perched on the hood of her car. She’s wearing the same shit eating grin as Sam and hops down to hug all three of them.

“Glad you could make it!” She follows them into their room and sits with a bounce on the bed Dean and Cas put their bags on. “All the paperwork is in place and we’ve got a 10am appointment with reservations for noon at the swankiest restaurant in town.”

Cas looks just as confused as Dean feels. “Could you clarify?”

She just grins at them and looks to her watch. “I’ll see you boys bright and early at 8am! It’ll take time for all of us to get ready.”

“Nope, no. You’re not going anywhere until someone explains what the hell is going on.” Dean places himself in front of the door, arms crossed over his chest. He’s ninety-nine percent certain that Sam was texting Charlie the whole ride and that means they’ve been plotting behind his back. “Not that it isn’t awesome seeing you, but what the hell is going on?”

Sam stretches out on his bed, looking as smug as a pig in shit. “We need to lure out the spirit with some newlyweds. No one in town is going to get married with this threat, so you know what we have to do, right?”

Yeah, he knows. If this case had come up years ago, Dean would’ve thought up a plan just like this and probably paid a working girl to marry one of them just to annul it after they’d found the spirit and gotten rid of it. It doesn’t mean he’s not any less pissed for not being clued in any sooner.

“You son of a bitch.”

Cas still has that confused scrunch and squint going on. “I don’t understand. The only thing to do would be to find a couple to get married.”

“They mean us, Cas. They’ve planned for _us_ to get hitched and lure out the spirit.” Dean hisses. “Lemme guess. Charlie, you’re going to be doing research on town history to find out who the spirit might be and why they’ve only started acting up in the last year. And Sam, you’re going to find the bones for a good ol’ salt and burn while Cas and I play the happily wedded bait.”

Cas has turned at least three different shades of red and he’s started to get that look he always had before he’d smite the fuck out of a demon. Dean steps out of the way of the door and gestures at Sam and Charlie – both of them seeming to realize right then that it might have been a good idea to run this by them before they left the bunker.

Dean tilts his head toward the door and Sam announces that he’s going to go get supper. Charlie offers her expert assistance in carrying things and they clear out _fast_. That leaves Dean to deal with Tropical Storm Castiel that’s slowly brewing at the end of their bed.

Time to try an ice breaker. “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you that they’ve been plotting this all day?”

“Fifteen.” Cas’s hands flex once before he practically rips open the weapons bag to start laying those out on the bed. “Our relationship isn’t any of their business. Even if it’s for a part of a case, they should have at least _consulted_ us – it’s _our_ relation –” He makes a frustrated noise and throws down the box of ammo in his hand.

Something is twisting in the pit of Dean’s stomach and he doesn’t really know what it is. “Yeah, I’m pissed too. Neither of them should have gone behind our back, but it’s better than us trying to convince another couple to do it, or hiring a civilian to play the part.” He crosses the room slowly until he’s standing beside Cas.

“I understand that.” Cas hisses, slapping knives and guns down on the bed harder than necessary. “But we’re just going to get it annulled afterward, aren’t we? We’re just going to go on like it never happened and I –”

Dean grabs his wrist before he can throw down the shotgun. He takes it from him and lays it down a little more gently. “I know you better than this, Cas. What’s the real reason?”

Cas looks up at him with an expression that’s borderline den-of-iniquity and just shy of apocalyptic. “I don’t want it to be like _this_. I don’t want to marry you because it’s for the job and then have it all undone the next day with an excuse that we were drunk or something equally ridiculous. If it happens, I want it to be because _we_ wanted it – why are you smiling?”

He’s really not sure. It’s not like Cas out and out said that he thinks this thing between them is heading in that direction. But he did more or less say that he’s been thinking about it. And thinking about _marriage_ means thinking about _permanent,_ means thinking about _staying_. It means he’s thought about it enough to know this isn’t how he wants it done.

It makes something warm and sappy pool in Dean’s chest somewhere behind his sternum and he’s not nearly as frightened at the thought of tying the knot as he thought he would be. Not when he thinks about doing that with _Cas_ , the closest person he’s ever had to a best friend and the one who’s always been _more_.  

“So how _do_ you want to do it?” Dean asks quietly and tugs him in, getting an arm around Cas’s waist. “Want me to go down on one knee? Ask for your hand right and proper? Give you an engagement ring before we say our ‘I do’s’? Or are _you_ the one who wants to do all that?”

Cas has gone pink again. But it’s not in the same way that he did with the anger. Dean leans in and kisses that blush once before planting a knee-wobbler on his lips. One of his specialties that has Cas clutching at his shoulders, eyes lidded and breathing hitched to a dizzying degree. It’s taken him years to perfect those kisses and only their first week of kissing to realize Cas frikken _loves_ them. Hell, if their bed wasn’t covered in sharps and boom-sticks, one of them would probably be on their back right now and fast on their way to losing their pants.

“We don’t have to get it annulled, y’know.” Dean murmurs into the curve of Cas’s throat. “We’ve got Sam to be my best man, Charlie could be your best woman – maid of honour, whatever you want. We could call Kevin and Garth in and they could be here in a day, two at the most. It could be the real thing, not just for the job.”

The skin under his mouth vibrates with the surprised sound Cas makes and the grip on his shoulders gets almost _painful_. Dean keeps laying kisses along his neck until Cas gets enough thoughts in line to shove him back a step. He doesn’t give him the chance to talk.

“It sucks they sprung this on us, yeah. And it’s not the most romantic way of getting it done or how I would I have preferred to do it if we ever got that far.” Dean tilts his head, holds Cas’s eyes like he’s been doing since day one. “If you don’t want to do it, we’ll get Sam and Charlie to marry each other. Yeah, I probably wouldn’t’ve thought of this – not for a long time, if ever – if it wasn’t for this case – but I -”

“Dean, you’ve had all of five minutes to think about it.”

“And that's all I need for me to know that I’d marry you, Cas. If you’d have me, I would marry you. Tomorrow morning, even.” He cuts him off again. “I’d do whatever you want me to, as long as it means you’re gonna stay with me.” Dean presses a quick kiss to the surprised ‘o’ Cas has going on with his mouth. “I need you, Cas.”

That ‘o’ slowly pulls into a grin, crinkling the corners of his eyes and lifting the edges of his lips. It’s the biggest, brightest smile that Dean’s seen on Cas’s face outside of a post-orgasm glow. Cas is almost on the verge of full on _laughter_.

“I need you too, Dean.” Cas’s smile only grows. “I’ll marry you.”

Three little words and it’s all he gets out before they’re kissing again. Soft and gentle, hands gripping clothes but not pulling them off. This time tomorrow, Dean is going to be a married man. It’s not something he’d ever really thought he’d be – even when he was living with Lisa. And he especially never thought that it would be with _Cas_.

Funny enough, now that he thinks about it, it could never really have been anyone else.


	27. Celebrating Someone's Birthday

It takes half the day – well after the private ceremony in the marriage office at town hall and long after the celebratory lunch is finished – that anyone actually realizes what day it really is. Dean is the first to notice – when he picks up a newspaper from the convenience store on their way back to the motel. He throws it down on the front seat next to Castiel when he slides back behind the wheel. Castiel doesn’t look at it, doesn’t think about it. Dates have never really meant anything to him before. But as Dean sits there, texting instead of starting the car up again so they can meet up with everyone who had gone with Charlie in her car, Castiel starts to wonder.

Kevin and Garth showed up at the ceremony this morning, called in ahead of time and further cementing the realization that Charlie and Sam had been planning this for longer than a few days. Charlie’s excuse had been that Dean and Castiel have been courting one another for years longer than most and it’s already like they’re a married couple and they’re just making it official – doing it to help the case is just a happy coincidence.

Castiel doesn’t exactly approve of their methods, but this new weight on his left hand is enough to appease him. If he closes his eyes, he can clearly picture the surprised look on Dean’s face when Sam had produced it after what few vows they had made. They had made their proper vows to one another after the ceremony, standing outside waiting for Charlie and Kevin to finish tying empty cans to the bumper of the impala. It wasn’t anything said with words, but with eyes and gentle kisses.

Dean had whispered the meaning of the ring into Castiel’s ear after they had signed the certificate and kissed in front of the witnesses. It’s his mother’s ring and Castiel feels terrible that he doesn’t have a ring for Dean yet. He had refused the ring that Charlie had showed him before the ceremony. It had no meaning to him, or to Dean, and he wants something that has significance to either of them. Dean says he doesn’t mind, but it’s bothering Castiel.

“Ready to head to the after party?” Dean puts his phone aside and slants a grin at Castiel. “It’s just to a bar. We get in a little dance, a little drinking, and then we can head back to the motel for our wedding night.”

Castiel only nods and reaches for Dean’s hand, slotting their fingers together and noting how the ring digs into his finger. He’s looking forward to the motel afterward more than he is this party. It sounds like it’s more for the others than it is for either of them and Castiel would much rather find a ring for Dean.

Dean takes the long route to the bar. It’s only late afternoon and Castiel doesn’t feel quite like drinking so early, but Dean seems excited and the others were nearly ecstatic with the plans. He can’t deny them this if it will make everyone happy. Plus it means Dean has to stay in his tuxedo longer and Castiel _really_ likes how Dean looks in a tuxedo.

“Are you buying time to let the others get there before us?”

“What gave me away?”

“You’re driving in a wide figure eight for the third time.”

Dean laughs and pulls into a back lane. “Fine, you caught me. They want to set up first before we get there.”

“You should have just said so.” Castiel unbuckles his seat belt and tosses the newspaper into the back as he slides across the seat to lean into Dean’s side. “There are much better ways to be spending our time than driving in circles.”

All Dean manages to mumble before Castiel tugs him into a kiss is something that sounds like it could have been ‘best husband’. Whatever it is, it makes Castiel feels warm on the inside, like he used to feel when he was full of burning grace. But now this internal heat is connected to Dean instead of to the host and it fills him more completely.

He has a home, he has family, he has _Dean_.

Castiel had intended to keep this as nothing more than kissing, but Dean’s hands wandered to his hips, pulling him closer until he is more kneeling than he is sitting. But the moment Dean’s lips slide from his mouth to his throat, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt and working at the buttons to reveal more and more.

By the time Dean’s phone trills the familiar text tone for Sam, Dean has Castiel’s shirt half-way open and both their pants are undone. They both ignore it in favour of finishing what they started. Dean’s fingers dig into Castiel’s hair while he bends over his lap, mouth stretching over his erection and tongue working in just the way he knows will get Dean off the quickest. They don’t have the luxury of time, not when Dean’s phone keeps buzzing and beeping somewhere under his leg.

When he sits up, licking his lips and swallowing around the bitter salt-taste, Dean has his head tilted back against the seat and he’s breathing hard. Dean’s hand slides from his hair to cup the side of his neck, his thumb brushing against Castiel’s jaw.

“Gimme a moment to catch my breath and I’ll return the favour.”

Dean makes due on his promise in a few minutes, twisting in his seat to push Castiel back against the passenger door. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but Dean guides his leg to hook over the back of the seat while he leans over. Castiel prefers this when they’re not wearing anything and when Dean can take his time. He does this wonderful thing with his fingers that Castiel has  yet to be able to figure out how to duplicate – but he can’t do it with pants on and –

And Dean is making it very hard to think about anything else when he’s being very attentive with lips and tongue and hollowed cheeks. Castiel’s head hits the partially opened window and he is quickly becoming too hot in his white tuxedo – something he’s going have to chastise someone (Sam or Charlie – it’s one of those two, for sure) about because he doesn’t think it’s entirely appropriate that he wear white on his wedding day.

Everyone had a _knowing_ look on their faces when they finally make it to the bar. Castiel doesn’t care about them. He’s perfectly okay with everyone knowing that he and Dean are intimate. Now that they’re married, it’s probably expected of them. That’s what the whole thing about the wedding night is all about, isn’t it? If this vengeful spirit they’re supposed to be hunting doesn’t interrupt, they might finally take the next step – the step that Castiel has been hinting that he’s been ready for, for at least a week now.

Castiel is not expecting the cake and the candles sitting on the table, or the ridiculous party hats and party favours.

Dean grins and snaps the string of a party hat under Castiel’s chin. He wraps an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. “You completely forgot what day it is, didn’t you?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“No, Cas. It’s September eighteenth.”

He knows the date. In 2008 it was a Thursday, the day that Dean Winchester was saved. They already celebrated Dean’s birthday in January. Castiel doesn’t understand why this would deserve another celebration. Except the cake – an ice cream one, judging by the melting around the edges – has ‘Congrats Dean & Cas’ and ‘Happy Birthday Cas’ written across it in blue icing.

But Castiel doesn’t have a birthday. If anything, the day he fell would be considered more of a birthday than today.

Dean presses a kiss just under Castiel’s ear. “Since we haven’t picked one for you yet, and today is going to be our wedding anniversary – and it’s the anniversary of the day you dragged me out of hell. Since I’m shit with remembering dates, I thought we could –”

“I understand.” Castiel smiles softly, leaning into his side. Even technically being on a job isn’t enough to ruin this moment for him. “It’s a nice thought, Dean. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He appreciates it less when he has to sit through a loud, mostly off-key, Happy Birthday song. Dean is well aware of it and he sings the loudest, drawing out the notes longer than everyone else. He does make up for it with a waltz on the dance floor and a murmured apology in Castiel’s ear, punctuated with a lick along its edge.

“You sure you’re okay with this being your birthday too?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m sure.” Castiel smiles against the side of his neck. “Besides, Charlie was kind enough to inform me that as the birthday boy I get to decide how the rest of our wedding night plays out.”


	28. Something Ridiculous

The impala turns off with a groan and the ticking of the engine cooling as Dean pulls the keys out. Castiel is still wearing the silly party hat and Dean had confetti in his hair. Charlie had given them a key and an address that most definitely wasn’t the motel they were using before. As it turns out, the address is the nicest hotel in St. Cloud. The lovely lady at the desk says that the key is for the honeymoon suite on the top floor.

Castiel doesn’t know how to feel as they take the elevator up to the fifth floor. He’s excited, of course, but he feels strangely nervous. This worried twist under his ribs hasn’t been felt since the first night that he kissed Dean. Castiel didn’t even feel like this the first time they brought each other off, or even the first time he’d slid down the bed to take Dean in his mouth.

Why should tonight feel different? Is it because they’re husbands now? Or is it because he fully plans on having sex with Dean tonight? Castiel doesn’t know. But the whole elevator is between them and even Dean looks strangely awkward as he twists the edge of his jacket between his fingers. Castiel has his hands in his pockets, fingers playing with a clean Kleenex. His pocket is going to be full of shredded facial tissue, but at least it’s better than shifting uneasily from side to side like he sort of wants to.

Dean gestures for him to step out of the elevator first and Castiel’s stomach flips. He’s well aware of how closely Dean follows him to the double doors of their suite. Castiel has the card key and he’s the one who unlocks it, pushing the doors open. He doesn’t get the chance to take his step in or even to see what the room looks like. Dean grabs his shoulder to spin him around.

There’s a moment for a brief kiss as Dean slides an arm around his waist and Castiel is wholly surprised when Dean dips down and tucks an arm behind his knees. Castiel is going to pretend that the surprised noise he makes is nothing even near a squeak when Dean lifts him without warning. Dean’s grin is wider than Castiel cares.

“Don’t give me that squinty stink-eye.” Dean hefts him higher against his chest in what Castiel thinks is called the bridal lifts. “I’m allowed to carry my new husband across the threshold of our honeymoon suite.”

“Fine.” Castiel tightens his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “That just means that I get to carry my new husband across the threshold of our _home_.”

“If Sam gets pictures, you’re sleeping in your own room.”

Castiel bites his lip to muffle a laugh as Dean carries him into the room. He lets the laugh out completely when they get a good look at the room. The bed is covered in various flower petals and a trail of the coloured petals leads across the room to what can only be the bathroom door.

“Five bucks says there’s the ingredients for one hell of a bubble bath in there.” Dean snorts and shifts Castiel in his arms again. “Um, what do you want to do?”

“I’ve never had a bubble bath.”

Dean chuckles and follows the petal path to the bathroom. Castiel ends up seated on the counter while Dean runs the bath in a tub that Castiel thinks they could park the impala in and still have room for them. Dean keeps chuckling while he pours soap under the tap and bubbles start to spread across the surface of the water.

“I don’t think I’ve had a bubble bath since I was a kid.” He checks the heat of the water and leaves the tub to approach Castiel where he sits on the counter. It’s second nature for Castiel to spread his legs to make room for Dean to stand as he pulls him closer to the edge of the counter by his hips. “Are you absolutely sure that you want to take a _bubble bath_ first?”

Castiel starts pushing Dean’s jacket from his shoulders. “You wouldn’t have started the bath if you didn’t want it too.”

Dean hums against his mouth when he leans in for a kiss. They get lost in the kisses and slow removal of their clothing. The tub nearly overflows by the time Dean pulls Castiel from the counter and leads him toward the tub. Dean sinks into the waters first with a pleased groan that he makes Castiel swear never to tell anyone he made.

The bath starts out with Castiel sitting opposite from Dean, Their legs tangled in the middle of the tub. They soak in the hot water first, letting the warmth ease their aches and pains. But it doesn’t take long for Dean to get silly with the bubbles. He scoops them up between his hands and blows them across the tub at him. He smacks them out of the air and tries not to laugh when Dean shuffles across the tub on his knees to use the bubbles to give Castiel a beard and he piles more bubbles into his hair.

“Are you having fun?” Castiel blows air up, scattering bubbles from around his mouth.

“Told you I haven’t done this since I was a kid. It’s like riding a bicycle.” Dean grins, scooping more bubbles up to add to the top of his head. “Old habits and all that.”

Castiel sits back and lets Dean play with the bubbles to his heart’s content. It’s not a bother and it’s rather endearing. It’s enough to make him think about installing a new tub – big enough for two – in the bunker and using that coupon for two-for-one bubble bath he’d clipped out without knowing if they would use it or not. He likes – no, he _loves –_ seeing Dean with his carefree, goofy grin. He loves Dean. And Castiel wants to see him smile like that more – always.


	29. Something Sweet

Dean leans over the tub, rooting around in the water for the plug to the drain. It’s being a bitch to find and he’s pretty positive that it was somewhere mid-tub. The bubbles are long gone and the water is the milky colour from all the soap, but he can’t find the motherfucker and Cas really isn’t helping with his leaning over his back and sneaking his hands under the folds of the complimentary house coat.

“Forget the tub.” Cas murmurs against his spine, dropping kisses like they’re going out of style.

Half way through the bath they’d stopped playing with the bubbles and refilled the tub with more hot water to take the time to wash each other. Dean discovered that he _really_ likes leaning back against Cas and letting him be clever with his fingers over his scalp. It’s feels fucking glorious and Dean is pleased as all hell that the ring Cas refused to take off for the bath means that Cas is sticking around forever.

During the lull while they were changing over the bath, Cas discovered a complimentary bottle of wine and ended up drinking most of it since Dean isn’t really a _wine_ guy. Turns out, without the angel mojo backing him up, Cas is kind of a light weight. He didn’t drink enough to be drunk, but he’s a little tipsy and apparently a tipsy Cas is a very affectionate Cas. Dean kind of likes it.

“Forget the tub and carry me to the bed, Dean.” Cas’s hands are stroking over his stomach, casually picking at the knot of the belt holding his bathrobe shut. He starts rocking a really obvious boner against Dean’s hip and he knows exactly what Cas wants and Jesus if that isn’t getting a response from him, he doesn’t know what would.

Dean stands up and wipes his arm dry on the back of Cas’s robe. “I thought you didn’t like the whole carrying thing?”

Cas leans into him, dropping sloppy sweet kisses along his jaw as his arms slip inside Dean’s robe to stroke over his back. “It’s our wedding night, Dean.” He almost sounds like he’s whining and Dean is finding it really, _really_ hard not to do as he asks.

Not that he’d tell his new husband ‘no’ on their wedding night, after all. Of course he’s had trouble telling Cas ‘no’ since they started this whole _relationship_ thing. They never even named it before – and now look at them. Of course he’s not complaining. He’s got Cas – _forever_ now. They may be on a job, but Dean is really fucking happy right now. He has been since he and Cas – since they became like _this_.

He scoops Cas up like he did before and Cas would almost be nuzzling his neck if it wasn’t for the open mouth and scrape of teeth. His arms move up around Dean’s shoulders and his hands find Dean’s hair and it’s really hard to carry him to the bed when Cas is really insistent on trying to make out with his neck.

Dean has no idea how the rest of this night is going to go – but it’s Cas’s ‘birthday’ so he’ll let him call the shots. If Cas wants to top, Dean will play his part willingly. It’s not like he’s not going to get his chance later. They’ve got the rest of their lives ahead of them to work through Cas’s ‘list’. A list Dean hasn’t actually seen yet, but he’s kind of looking forward to seeing everything that turns Cas’s crank.

Dropping together onto the bed sends a cloud of flower petals into the air and it gets the closest thing to giggles Cas has ever had. He starts picking them out of Dean’s hair and off his shoulders.

“There’s something you say when you’re doing this, isn’t there?” Cas murmurs, looking up at him with a little smile – a _happy_ smile – that sets off a whole flock of butterflies behind Dean’s ribs. “Children say it, when they pick flowers. I sat under a tree in a park once, invisible to human eyes, and watched the children pluck the petals from the daises.”

Cas pulls a petal from Dean’s hair. “He loves me.” He picks another from his shoulder. “He loves me not.” Another from his other shoulder. “He loves me.”

There’s no one here except for Cas and Dean can actually _feel_ his cheeks heating up from a blush. He’s seen Cas on beer before, and he gets sassy and sarcastic. But Cas on wine is a whole different kettle of fish and Dean would be embarrassed by it if there was anyone else around. Specifically to see him sit up over Cas’s hips and ditch his house coat – and the flowers on his shoulders – while shaking the loose petals out of his hair.

Cas blinks up at him, the last petal still pinched between his fingers. And he smiles again, bright and wide. Dean leans down to press a kiss to the petal, his fingertips, and he turns Cas’s hand over to kiss his palm, his wrist, and he pushes the sleeve down to drop kisses along his forearm to the curve of his elbow. He skips to his collarbone and up his neck until he can kiss Cas properly, slow and deep.

Dean mumbles against his lips, pausing to catch Cas’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah, he loves you.”


	30. Something Hot

Taking it slow has never really been Dean’s cup of tea. He likes to make a more personal connection before sex – but that was a long time ago and long before Cas. But it’s their wedding night and Dean is never, _ever_ letting Cas drink wine again. It makes him affectionate, yeah, but after a few kisses that went from sweet to spicy and a good few minutes of dick on dick grinding, Cas came and stayed conscious long enough for Dean to come too – he should be thankful for that at least.

Dean would be disappointed if he wasn’t tired either. They’ve been up all day and it’s been a busy one – emotional and otherwise. So Dean is actually more than okay with wiping them down and tucking them both into bed after shaking the flower petals off the blanket. What he isn’t expecting is to be woken up four hours later by wandering hands and teeth dragging over his shoulder.

“If you’re gonna be the first one to conk out, you’re not allowed to wake me up.” He grumbles, turning his face into the pillow and trying really hard to ignore how quickly Cas’s stroking fingers are actually waking him up.

Cas somehow manages to get his mouth to that spot under Dean’s ear and he muffles Cas’s name into the pillow. “Wake up, Dean. I am not letting half a bottle of wine and a nap rob me of my wedding night.”

The groan is overly dramatic, but Dean can’t really continue to pretend that he’s not into it when Cas is working his hands over Dean’s dick in really obvious twists of his wrists. He pushes Cas’s hands away and rolls over to face him. “And what, exactly, do you want to do on your wedding night?”

A leg gets hooked over his hip and Cas pulls him in closer, rocking their hips together and yeah, Dean is _totally_ awake now. He rolls more into Cas, finding his mouth and kissing away any answer Cas might give. The kisses turn hard fast and Cas doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop rolling his hips or getting his hands pretty much everywhere.

“ _Dean_ –” Cas full on _moans_ his name and the sound of it does absolutely horrible things to Dean’s insides.

Somehow that gives him all the directions that he needs. Dean’s pretty sure that Charlie is the one who took care of the honeymoon suite. Sam would have known better than to cover the room in flowers. Which means Charlie would have probably stocked the bedside table with – halle-fucking-lujah, all hail the Queen. Condoms and lube, manna from heaven. He’s going to have to buy her a new set of dungeon dice or something for this.

He doesn’t even get the chance to ask how Cas wants to do it. Cas answers the question before it’s even fully formed in Dean’s head as he shuffles back against the pillows and spreads his legs. It’s a sight that has Dean’s mouth going dry and he has trouble remembering his own name let alone what he’s supposed to be doing.

Prepping Cas is a trial all on its own. Cas still doesn’t hold still through all of that. His hips keep moving, pushing down on Dean’s fingers and up into his mouth. Dean isn’t exactly blowing him, not completely. He’ll lick and suck at odd intervals, but he spends more time pressing kisses to his thighs or his hips and fully enjoying the frustrated little whines it gets him. Cas’s fingers are permanently fixed in Dean’s hair and they tug lightly whenever Dean gets a little close to where Cas clearly really wants his mouth.

But the really difficult part is all the sounds Cas makes. It’s not just the little whines. It’s gasps and whimpers and honest to god, tilt the head back, _groans_ whenever Dean brushes a finger against his prostate.  And every sound is molded around a mantra of Dean’s name in that sex rough voice (that _does_ get deeper during the actual act). Dean fucking loves it. He can’t get enough of it and that may or may not be why he’s drawing out the prep a helluva lot longer than he actually needs to.

He gets away with it for another five minutes before Cas actually pushes his hands away and slaps a condom against his forehead. Dean would laugh, but there are much more interesting things to do right now. He’s about to deflower his blushing groom on their wedding night and he can’t even get the frikken condom on he’s so excited (nervous?). What the hell? Dean Winchester hasn’t been nervous about having sex since he lost his virginity.

It’s Cas and his gentle touches over Dean’s wrists and the back of his hands that calm him down. His hands stop shaking and the rubber rolls on easy as pie. Cas’s fingers trace up his arms slowly, catching him around the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss. He thinks about asking Cas what position he wants to try – but Cas is already sliding further down the bed, legs hitched up and hooking around his waist and yeah, this is happening, this is actually happening.

Cas bites his lip and his nails dig into Dean’s shoulders at the first press. Dean doesn’t like that pinched look of pain and he tries to kiss it away, tries to distract Cas from that little burn. He knows what it feels like, even after prep, especially when it’s your first. It’ll feel good soon – Dean would stake his not unimpressive reputation on it.

The deep throated groan Cas makes at the first gentle push is pretty freaking awesome. Delicious for his ears. Cas hides his face against Dean’s neck while he rocks gently, moving in shallow thrusts until Cas starts pushing back, starts asking for more. When Dean gets a hand under his hips and lifts them to angle them just right, Cas’s whole body seizes with a sharp near-shout of his name. It’s exactly the reaction he was aiming for.

Cas alternates from locking his arms around Dean’s shoulders, to digging his fingers into his hair and panting his name into desperate kisses, to gripping the headboard when Dean _really_ starts fucking him. He keeps arching his back, head pressing into the pillows and baring his throat and Dean’s discovered that he really likes Cas’s throat. He likes tasting his pulse under his tongue and feeling the vibrations of every noise that he makes.

It’s Cas who finally works his hand between them to stroke himself. Dean sits back on his heels, hands still holding Cas’s hips just right. There’s sweat on Cas’s temples and chest and Dean is _really_ tempted to lick it away. But he’s got a job to do and it’s more than just devoting the sight Cas makes to his spank bank. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes that this marks maybe the fifth time today that he’s thought that Cas is beautiful like this.

But not just like this. Cas is as gorgeous as he was when he was standing across from Dean, eyes locked on him as that pompous windbag in the marriage office read off something he’s probably read a thousand times over. Or when he was holding Dean’s hand outside on the steps, murmuring something in Enochian and holding more in his eyes than Dean even knows how to begin handling.  Or when Cas was laughing while trying to hold a piece of ice cream cake long enough to shove it into Dean’s mouth during the cliché feeding-the-wedding-cake-to-each-other thing. Or Cas smiling up at him from a bed full of flower petals, eyes warm and brimming with all that _feeling_.

He’s looking at him now with that same stare, lips parted, face flushed, and Dean can’t look away. Dean never could.

Cas comes unexpectedly, tensing up and tilting his head back. Dean drops forward to fit his mouth to his throat again, feeling the groan rumble under his lips. It’s the best and it tips Dean over the edge, white lightning in his veins and sparks along his spine. He really wants to collapse on Cas, just lay there and cover him and feel him trembling under him. But he falls to the side instead, sliding out and kind of hating it.

They don’t say anything while they bask in the afterglow. Cas curls around him like a weirdly attractive octopus, not even waiting for Dean to get the condom off. It’s a little difficult, but he does manage to get it off and toss it somewhere over the edge of the bed with the hopes that he doesn’t step on it when he finally drags himself out of bed in the morning.

Somehow Dean’s hand ends up in Cas’s hair, twisting and petting in a mockery of how Cas had worked his scalp during the bath. They’re both hot and sweaty and the blanket is probably not going to make a reappearance any time soon, so it’s a good thing that Dean put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door handle. He should probably get one of those for the bunker. It would save Sam any awkward moments.

And that makes him think, makes Dean wonder. How much of their life is going to change now that he and Cas are married? Are they going to be expected to find a place of their own? Or is Sam going to move out to give the newlyweds their space? He doesn’t want any of that to change. And why should it? Nothing changed when Cas officially moved all his clothes into the spare drawers in Dean’s room. It didn’t change when Dean moved his desk to Cas’s room and it became an unofficial guest room slash ‘study’. So nothing really needs to change, does it?

When Cas starts snoring softly against his shoulder, Dean comes to a decision. The only thing that’s changed is his certainty that Cas feels the same for him as he does for Cas. And even if he doesn’t have a ring on his finger yet, he’s still sporting a handprint on his _soul_ – as he’s been reminded time and time again. Cas is his and Dean is Cas’s and neither of them are going anywhere. And that’s something that isn’t going to change.


End file.
